To Stop the Darkness
by aliencatt
Summary: Life as a hunter is becoming unbearable for Dean Winchester. Then he sees someone who he thinks can make him feel whole, for the first time...PRE.SERIES...AU... SLASH...WINCEST...F.A.O... warnings inside
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.

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**Pre- series **... Sam ... Dean ... John... OMC ... Bobby

**WARNINGS**... SLASH...WINCEST...UNDERAGE SEX...NON/CON...ABUSE...REFERENCES TO CHILD ABUSE... **READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**

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**A/N** ...yes I know its been done before, but hopefully not enough to stop you enjoying my take on the, in this case, Sam rent boy thing.

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==000==

Dean pulled the car over to the curb and just stared. He could do nothing else, letting the motor idle as he just sat and stared across the street. He was beautiful, the kind of person people would call an Angel. Dean would have too if he had believed in such a thing. It was hard at this distance to tell just how tall he was, standing on his own in the pool of light streaming down from the streetlamp as if spotlighted. Stood casually, weight on one hip, he was just surveying the street. Slim narrow hips were hugged in so tight low jeans, the pale blue t-shirt tight across his chest which, as he moved, was not long enough, exposing a strip of pale skin on a flat belly.

Dean's breath fled as he became mesmerised by that strip of flesh, his eyes only being drawn away as slim fingers tucked too long hair, darker than his own, brunette, almost black in the false light, behind a delicate ear. Once more he thought the word, 'Angel'. But the image was of a Botticelli Angel, not one clothed in armour and fury as in a cathedral, or cute and fluffy as on a hallmark greetings card.

He wondered what he should do. Wondered if the youth was lost and needed help or wanted to go for a coffee. He wondered if he would want to come back to the hotel. Undecided, he just sat and stared, until a car pulled up blocking his view.

How could he have been so stupid? Thinking the boy a vision from Heaven when he was a rent boy, a street hustler. Anger welled up in Dean as the lad got into the car and it drove slowly around the corner into a darkened alley. He was fuming but unsure who or what at, himself for being so ridiculous, being mesmerised by a whore, or the boy for being one?

He became aware of his surroundings, realising the street was crawling with them and, as he looked around, another caught his glance and headed across the road to him. Dean pulled away from the curb feeling disgusted, not truly at the hustlers for doing what they had to do to survive but at himself as he so nearly turned the Impala into that alley, wanting to grab the boy and pull him away from whatever pervert had got his hands, or worse on him.

And if he did, just what did he want to do with the lad? Was he so different? It had been hard to judge his age but knowing a thing or two about the seedier side of life hazarded, he was young. The expiry date on a rent boy was short. The appeal soon wore off as younger meat was always just around the corner. He could not fool himself in to thinking that he had any intention of saving the boy from a life of prostitution. He was not that noble, because, as he had stared at the 'vision', his thoughts had been anything but altruistic. He drove away, not looking back.

=0=

It did not prove easy to forget the boy. He had spent the rest of the night sat morosely in a bar wanting the noise and alcohol to drown out the thoughts in his head, much as he did every night. He wished John was here but he was off somewhere with some woman and he did not want to think what the pair were up to. Thoughts of his father and sex did not sit well. Like many a child, he was convinced parents stopped having sex after they were born but Dean knew different. That was another trait he had gained from his lone parent, random, frequent pick-ups, along with the killing skills.

Things were bad lately. Very bad. There seemed to be a never ending carnival of freaks and nasties that needed putting down and both he and his father had ways of dealing, ways of numbing the pain. Alcohol, curvy women and sex. But now? All he could see was a beautiful boy, shaking his ass for Lord knew what lecherous bastard. He hoped he was okay. Enough, and swinging from the barstool Dean headed unsteadily back to the hotel.

The walk unfortunately, cleared his head. He had gone to the bar on foot as he had had plans to get completely wasted but sobering up, he had had to rummage in his duffle for a bottle hidden from his father. He was fed up with the constant bitching, the constant, 'You need to be on your game, Son. You're too young to keep drinking like this'. It was not as if John didn't fuckin' drink too. It took a while and most of the bottle but, finally, oblivion took him.

=0=

"What?" just once he would like to wake up without seeing that disapproving expression. John just dropped his eyes back to the newspaper on the table before him, leaving Dean to struggle to sit up without saying a word. His father's pointed silence was as bad as the bitching so Dean stumbled into the bathroom, finally getting undressed.

Half an hour later, immerging clean but in no better a mood, he dressed and asked John, "You ready for breakfast?"

Raising brows at him in that infuriating manner that was pure John Winchester he replied, "Breakfast? It's gone two in the afternoon."

"So?"

"It's a bit late for 'Breakfast' don't you think?"

"Fine!" grabbing his jacket from the floor and keys from the nightstand, he slammed his way out of the room ignoring his father as he called out his name, telling him that 'things had better change around here'.

=0=

He knew he should be hungry but his stomach churned with anger and bile and he needed a drink. But it was _'gone two in the afternoon' _and, no matter how damned annoying he was, he knew his father was right. His drinking was becoming a problem. It was making him moody and reckless, not to mention his new attitude to his father. He could just not follow him around like the obedient puppy anymore. He was a grown man, he was twenty, not twelve.

But, damn he felt rough. Reaching the car, he unlocked the door getting in then, just sat there, kind of hoping his dad would appear at the window, praying he would not. He did not know what to do so, switching on the ignition, pulled out and just drove.

Feeling the wheels on 'his baby', not that the Impala was officially his, he had to wait for his twenty first for that, turning on the blacktop always soothed him, but they were in a city not out on the 'open road'. He had to concentrate on the traffic which he found hard as his mind wondered dangerously. After two near misses, he pulled to the curb and just sat. Then, with a, "fuck it", he rummaged in the glove box coming up empty then checked under the seat. Damn it! Searching the back, "Bitch!" he cursed as he realised John had emptied out the stash of alcohol. He sat back, hands hitting the steering wheel none too gently.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked around for a liquor store and saw him, saw where he was. Was it coincidence or had he purposely driven here? He did not know, but what he did know was he was as beautiful as he remembered and could do nothing but watch as the tall teenager sauntered over to the Impala, swinging his hips suggestively.

A tap at the window and Dean could not move, continuing to just stare. There was a laugh and the face smiled in at him. "No need to be shy," he was told, "I won't bite, unless…?" there was no need to finish the sentence. Thinking this was so not a good idea, Dean leant over and rolled down the window then sat back as the teenager folded his arms, leaning on the door but not too far into the car.

The boy had worked these streets for over a year now, way long enough to have learnt many a lesson. "So? What can I do for you?" his voice was low and pleasant with an accent Dean could not immediately place but not native to this northern town. He just licked his lips still gazing at the youth.

Dean had never paid for sex. Hell, he had never needed to. He himself had been offered money often enough not to be embarrassed or too angry about it but looking at that face, he wanted him and knew the only way would be to pay. There was no chance the youth would give away the only thing he had to sell. And Dean had fuck all cash in his pocket. It was not as if this was planned. He dragged his gaze from that mouth to the eyes, beautiful but cold, hazel eyes. "How much do you…?" he found it hard to ask, "How much?"

The boy had a good idea what the man wanted, as he had done nothing but stare at his mouth, but he asked coyly, "That depends on what you expect me to do." 'Anything you damn well want' he thought. The man was fucking hot. What the hell did he need to pick a Rent Boy off the street for? He should be charging not paying for it. He only looked to be a few years older than himself. And that mouth? Those lips would earn him a fortune.

Fuck, he could be a freak! A psycho or something. He so hoped not but he would have to be careful. More so than usual. He had never seen him or the car around here before. He hoped he was not be a beater or worse, a biter. The bruises always put the next trick off. But he was, gorgeous.

Dean was lost. He felt so stupid, so inept. This was ridiculous. What was he doing negotiating for sex? But he could not take his eyes off him. There was just something about him that had Dean yearning but not just for a fuck. He reminded him of someone but could not think who. He wanted him, wanted to hold him, wanted to make life right for him. Being this close up had changed his mind. He wanted to save him.

He groaned internally. That was what all those serial killers on the cops shows wanted. He should just drive away and forget about him. He leant to the side pulling his cash from his pocket and counting said, "I've got twenty seven dollars?" and looked up hopefully.

Sammie was good looking and popular. So his prices were marginally higher than most of the boys up and down the block. For that he would normally allow a bit of a grope and a quick hand job but this guy was, as stated, gorgeous. He opened the door, wondering if everybody could hear the squeal, and jumped onto the bench seat, grabbing the money and slamming the door behind him amused at the wince it produced on the man's face. "Sorry," he said lightly, laughter in his voice. He had a good feeling about this punter, one he had not had since he was fresh enough to think some rich sugar daddy would come along and take him away to a better life, keeping him all to himself and treating him right. Treating him well. At fourteen he had been so naive. Not now though.

Dean, still unsure what he was getting, started up the engine. He coughed nervously then asked, "Where to?" The boy leant over close to him and pointed to the alley he had seen him use the night before. He was disappointed, stupidly, but pulled from the curb turning as directed.

It did not look good in the alley and he winced at the thought of his baby sitting here amongst the trash. He looked at the other cars 'parked up'. 'Dean, what the fuck are you doing?' he asked himself yet again.

"Up to the top and left." The boy's smooth hand pointed out the way then came to rest high on Dean's thigh.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard at the contact. He did not know why the boy was having such a damned affect on him. It was not simple lust. Although that was something that had rarely happened in reaction to a male, he would have understood and recognised the feeling. This was something…more. There was something emanating from the slim youngster that had Dean saying a revealing spell under his breath, just in case of beguilement, watching from the corner of his eye.

Nothing happened but the boy smiling at him inquisitively.

"What's your name?"

"My name?" slightly surprised that the punter would care, "Sammie….. Unless you don't want it to be?" seeing the expression darken on the man's face.

"No…. Sammy's fine. Um… Dean." Crap! Why did he have to be called _that_? Of all names, why did it have to be _that_?

"Pleased to meet you, Dean," he said brightly, ignoring the slight tensing on the man's brow.

'Bet you are' Dean thought uncharitably, 'in more ways than one'. Then felt himself go hot. Not blush, he did _not_ do that but he felt hot none the less.

"Just here, under the bridge. No one will disturb us here."

"You sure?" as he pulled up and killed the engine.

"Yes," and he moved along the bench seat to press against Dean's side, his right hand reaching across to the opening on Dean's jeans.

Dean had been relieved on leaving the alley but was still convinced people would be watching them, no matter how deserted the area appeared. They were in a deserted lot next to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. Just another run down area of city. There were plenty of those these days.

Warm breath on his face and he turned his head to look at the boy's, at Sammie's, face, so close to his as his hands had his jeans undone, one moving inside. The boy smiled at him but it never reached his eyes. He was a professional after all and no matter what Dean felt, to him, he knew, he was just another sleaze paying for sex.

Sammie was sure the man wanted him to go down on him, the way he was still staring at his mouth but if he could get away with just a hand job he would. Of course. Give as little as possible for as much as you could get. That was what Hutch had taught him and taught him well, the hard way. He pushed his hand onto the man's prick, semi hard already but he did not move in response, just carried on staring at his mouth. Guess he would have to suck it then. He had already taken the money and he was honest, no matter him being a whore. He moved back slightly, twisting on the seat so he could bend down, careful not to hit his head on the steering wheel.

Realising what the boy was doing, Dean stopped him, pushing him gently, but firmly back against the door and pulled the hand from his prick. Not that he would not mind the attention but all he had thought about since seeing Sammie the day before was, what would it be like to kiss that mouth? It had him mesmerised. He felt he was under a spell and wondered briefly if he was. It would explain his behaviour. He slid out from behind the steering wheel and placing a hand on the side of the boy's face, leant forwards wanting to find out.

Sammie pulled away from him, a worried look on his face. He seldom if ever let one of his tricks kiss him. Not that many wanted to. But the man, he had forgotten his name already, was looking at his mouth again and ran the thumb, of the hand now cradling his face, so delicately along his bottom lip as he licked his own. It unaccountably sent a shiver down Sammie's spine and he slowly, hesitantly, leant forwards to press his lips against the man's, admittedly, beautiful full ones.

Dean let out a breath just before their lips met. He had thought the boy would deny him this intimacy that did not seem part of the price. As Sammie softly kissed him, he knew that he was indeed under a spell, because for the first time since forever, the screaming heartache quietened.

He pulled back, looking into the boy's hazel eyes as they gazed back appearing almost confused. There was no guile. No discernable plan, just a kind of mystery and deciding he would worry later, Dean leant forwards once more, this time capturing those lips, kissing him tenderly but insistently, his hand running around his head into the thick soft hair.

Sammie let the man continue to kiss him as he conceded he was damn good at it. And the way he was holding him, cradling his head as his other hand gently slid around his waist, said anything but whore. He kissed him as a lover would, or how he thought a lover would. He had never had one.

He and Billy sometimes got it together but that was more often than not for comfort, helping each other chase the memories away after a bad trick. And they never went 'all the way,' just touching.

No one had ever kissed Sammie the way that this man, this Dean, as the name came back to him, was kissing him. He kissed him as if he was worth something. As if he was worth kissing because of who he was. He felt a smile inside as he recognised a feeling of hope and possibility then quickly shut it down. There was no hope. He was just a paying customer, and a cheap one at that. Sammie knew he could not afford to forget that. So he would just enjoy the moment and maybe, think about it from time to time.

Dean sank into the feel of the other's mouth on his, not pushing, not forcing, but enjoying. He had not kissed someone for this long, without losing clothes, since he was at school and even then as a junior. Slowly he pulled back, sucking on that bottom lip then letting it go, smiling at the pout on Sammie's face. He was wise enough not to believe it but liked it anyway.

Sliding both his hands to the lad's slim waist, he half lifted, encouraging him to climb onto him, to straddle him and he did smiling down at Dean as he settled onto his lap, thrusting his hips a couple of times stoking Dean's ardour. He pushed his hand back into that long hair and pulled him down for another kiss, this time much deeper, pushing his tongue into the hot mouth, eliciting a moan from the younger as he responded.

Sammie pushed his hands down the back of the man's leather jacket, forcing it off his shoulders as he, too, deepened his kiss, pushing his own tongue against the other's, fighting to get into his mouth. He was actually getting turned on himself and just went with it, deciding to get what he could before it went sour. It would. It always did.

Dean's hands held the boy's sides, pulling him, intensifying the rhythm he was setting as he moved in his lap. He slid down on the bench, his hands moving to grasp the small tight butt over the denim, the jeans being too tight to let him in.

Sammie pulled his right hand from down the man's back as his left slowly lifted up his shirt and t-shirt wanting to feel his skin. The man did not stop kissing him. No longer gentle or tender, but wet and hot as he repeatedly thrust his tongue in, in time to Sammie's grinding onto his lap. He lifted up slightly, catching the man's swollen bottom lip between his teeth as he pushed his right hand back onto the man's now, significantly, hard prick.

The boy's hair kept brushing Dean's face as he moved up and down on him, panting into his mouth as his body, his hand and mouth all moved on him, his rhythm becoming faster as he worked his hand on Dean's prick whilst rubbing against him. His knees slid on the bench seat but he kept using Dean to pull himself up, his hand clutching his back.

Dean's own hands travelled up the boy's back, pushing up the blue cotton, feeling his ribs, his shoulder blades as the arm and hand continued to work him. He had to stop kissing him, his breathing becoming laboured but still he rested his lips on the other's, his younger mouth open breathing on him. It had all become so frantic, so sexy, so damned 'hot' and Dean felt his body draw up as it prepared for that release. He spared a thought that he hoped the boy would cum too as he rubbed his own bulge against the hand stroking Dean then he did not give a fuck as he tensed and came with a groan into the boy's mouth as his spunk pumped onto his hand.

Sammie continued to move on him but slowing, knowing it was too late and he would not to get to cum too. It was rare that he wanted to but he had gotten caught up in the moment and jerked the softening prick in his hand a couple more times making the man shudder then collapse back and he let him go, wiping as much of the spunk off his hand onto the man as he could get away with. The grasping hands left his back and one moved to catch his jaw between thumb and fingers and lifting his head, the man gazed sleepily into his eyes. His other hand moved to stroke softly over Sammie's own cock through his jeans, making his eyes widen in surprise and Dean smile.

"Want you to cum too. Keep moving." And as he did, the older man pressed, rubbing his erection through his jeans. It did not take long as, pushing, rubbing against the man's hand, his face was cradled once more and brought down to be kissed. He thought it was the tenderness of the kiss, slow deep and so sexy that did it to him and Sammie came in his underwear, sobbing into the man's mouth.

Dean let the boy go and he sort of slumped onto him, his head on his shoulder, breathing hotly against his neck then relaxed licking his lips. He was not too sure, never having been with a pro before, but he was a bit surprised at the amount of involvement. He had thought he was to get a quick, disinterested hand job but now he was knackered in that good, well sated, way and the boy looked fucked. He slowly wrapped him in his arms as he would a lover and waited till the bubble burst.

Sammie slowly came back, getting himself under control and hardened his heart, putting back up those barriers that amazingly he had let slip. He levered himself up on the back of the seat and climbed off his 'trick' not looking at him and sat back down, tight against the door. "Take me back, please."

"S..ure," confused at the sudden distance and, fastening himself up, Dean slid behind the wheel and started the engine, continuously glancing across at the boy who sat, arms wrapped around his waist, staring out of the side window, his face hidden from him.

"Here. Stop here," the boy commanded as they neared the exit to the alley he had turned down not knowing what was to happen. Dean pulled to a stop and before he could say anything, the boy had the door open and was gone, the slam of the door crashing over Dean like a vicious backhanded slap. He just peered ahead for a moment then pulled the car from the alley, looking to the left and saw him being dragged along the pavement by the upper arm, the man holding him looking ugly and angry.

There was a short conversation and Sammie pulled money from his pocket, handing it over. The 'gorilla' shook the money at him, shouting something. Sammie stepped back and his reply must have been the wrong one as he was slapped across the face, hard enough to make Dean wince and open his door to go help him only to have it slammed back by a thin body and as he looked up, another of the hustlers appeared in warning, "Don't. You'll just make it worse for him," then quickly moved away, heading back to the curb.

Realising he was just passing through a different world, Dean pulled out into the light traffic and reluctantly left Sammie to his fate.

=0=

"Where the fuck have you been?" grabbing hold of Sammie's arm, dragging him along the pavement just because he could.

The boy looked up into the ugly, seething face of his 'protector', as the pimp liked to be referred to as, and awaited the sourness. "With a client," he answered, another preferred term.

Hutch held out his hand and Sammie reluctantly pulled the crumpled money from his pocket. "Is this it?" waving twenty dollars in his face.

"He was a few dollars short. But I did him a quick hand job anyway. Its only five dollars short." His voice fearful, pleading understanding. If the bastard did not believe him and decided to strip search him, as he had before, and he found the seven stuffed in his briefs, he would pay, pay dearly for it.

"A quick hand job? You were gone over half an hour! That should 'ave taken ten minutes, max. What the fuck were you doing?"

"I told you. But he took ages. Couldn't get it up." The slap stung.

"Then you should've worked harder at it! Your regular client was here. The one that pays a damn site more than twenty, fuckin', dollars."

"I'm sorry,"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Sir. I am. I'm sorry, Sir." He was trembling and it was not just for show. He was scared.

Hutch looked to be a little mollified. "Well, you should be," and he handed over Sammie's earnings, less than half. As he had been stiffed five dollars, it was not coming out of his cut. "Right, get that ass moving. That's two hundred bucks you've got to make up!" he stroked Sammie's reddened cheek, "If you're short, I'm gonna take it in trade," and he moved off to check on his other 'employees' leaving Sammie to stare at the dirty sidewalk, desperately holding in tears he had not let himself shed since he was twelve.

=0=

"You okay, Son?" John asked concerned. Dean had been in a strange mood since his return to the hotel and had sat staring out of the window barely speaking.

"Sure," he replied not wanting to have to deal with John's recent, continual concern over his 'emotional health'.

"You've been staring out there for over an hour. You sure you're okay, Son?"

"Yes!" lifting the bottle to his lips taking a drink just to piss his Dad off. And to stop the hollow pounding inside. It had started up in the background as soon as Sammie 'fled' the Impala and had started up in earnest as soon as he saw that freak with his hand around Sammie's arm.

"Right! Have you at least eaten something?" trying to stop the anger from entering his voice. John had only just realised he had missed something changing within his son, who now seemed determined to drink himself to death.

"Eat this!" giving him the finger not even bothering to turn and look at him.

"That's it! What the hell is wrong with you?" grabbing at his son's shoulder, swinging him around on his seat.

Dean looked up into the so angry face of his father and realised what he had just done. Horrified, he dropped his head, "I'm sorry, Sir."

"So you should be. What is it? What's making you act like this?" What they needed was to move on. He had to find them another hunt, get back on the ball. He had thought what they needed was a little R and R, he knew he certainly had. These last few months had been exhausting and he had felt they needed down time. But now he was not so sure. Dean was becoming restless yet seemed to spend all his time either in a bar or in bed, alone or not.

Bringing the ever present bottle up once more, then thinking better of it, Dean put it down on the table. He would have to keep his eye on it though or else it would be gone when he next went for it. John was costing one, Mr. A. Butler a fortune in wasted booze. He tried to think of what to say to his father. Of a way he could explain what he was feeling and why. The problem was, he did not understand himself.

This life had never bothered him before. Growing up he had known no different. It was what they had to do. They had to find and kill the thing that had destroyed their family. Track down and some how eliminate the thing that had killed both his mother and his baby brother. And until that day, they would kill anything else that did not have a right to live.

As teenage years hit, it had been cool to be the hero, to know that he was a fighter on the side of all that was good. A kind of Avenging Angel in a leather jacket. Even if he could not tell the chicks about it, he knew, and his father knew.

But now? It was not enough. With each kill, the satisfaction he had felt had begun to be hollow. So they were saving the world, destroying one 'evil son of a bitch', a phrase he gotten from John, after another, but what about him? What was really in it for him? Some nameless gratitude? That did not keep him warm at night. That did not fill the empty space that was growing inside him, day after day, mile after mile. He needed more. He just did not know what that more should be.

He sighed looking up at his father. He could not answer him, he did not know the answer. He just shook his head and repeated, "I'm sorry, Sir," adding sadly,"I just don't know."

Mollified only slightly, John Winchester shook his head and told him, "Well, when you do know, do something about it. I need you active, attentive and able to watch my back. Enough with the moping around. Whatever it is, deal with it!"

"Yes, Sir," after all his father was right, as usual.

Grabbing up his jacket, John headed for the door. "Come on. You may not want to eat but I do and I'm not leaving you behind this time."

Dean just looked up at him but seeing _that_ look gave in and climbed slowly to his feet. He did not have the energy to argue, to contradict. Maybe a burger would help with that.

==000==

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Dropping John off at the hotel the next day, after another late breakfast, Dean pulled away before his father had time to get the inevitable question out. His father did not need to know where he was going. He felt better today, not having drunk himself to sleep. Instead he had stared at the ceiling, feeling again the boy's lips on his, remembering the way he had ground against him, had panted into his open mouth. And he had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, his first since, he could not remember when. As soon as he awoke, realising how good the sleep had been, he determined to see the boy again.

That gave him pause. Just how old was he? Hopefully older than he looked as he guessed his age about, sixteen? Not younger, please, no younger, but realistically, it's not as if he had 'ruined' him, the old expression popping into his head. He was not ruined, he told himself, he just needed someone to help get him away from that life.

But there were many reasons causing a person to turn 'pro' and just as many reasons stopping them from leaving. He did not think the kid was on drugs but would not blame him if he were. Vicious circles were so easy to fall into and so hard to climb back out of. And realistically, what could he do? It was not as if he could just pick him up and drive off with him. Even if the kid allowed him to, it was the kid that had to get himself out of the life. If not, a trip in Dean's car would be just that. He would just take the life with him.

Dean laughed. Who the hell was he kidding? He was having enough trouble saving himself at the moment. He was burning out. He was twenty years old and he had had enough. What use would he be to anyone when he could be killed at any moment? If he carried on as he was going, he would be putting anyone near him in danger. John was correct. He had to sort himself out.

Now though, turning onto the strip, he wondered would the boy be out at this time of day? Or was it a slack time for the 'trade'? He had no idea, but pulling up to the same block as yesterday, he saw him immediately, standing with the other one, the one that had prevented Dean from interfering the previous afternoon.

Sammie looked up at the sound of a car, loud and purring, just like the man from yesterday's. He hid the smile as he saw the black Chevy. He had come back for more. He had better have come back for him. And, brought more cash. A lot more. He had gotten him in to so much trouble with Hutch and, although his regular had comeback for him an hour later, he had been angry and Sammie had had to take a fisting, something he detested even though it earned him extra he could hide from his pimp.

Billy motioned over with his chin, "Your slow riser's back."

He leant in to whisper conspiratorially to the only person he remotely trusted, "There's nothing slow about him. He actually got me off without me thinking about it."

"Well, you'd better move it before Gladys over there steals him from under your nose."

"Not a chance," and kissing Billy on the cheek, made his way slowly over to the car, smiling leaning down as 'Gladys' strutted off spouting invective. He pushed his hair back watching as Dean's eyes followed the movement. Yeah this man wanted a boy, wanted him, not some half done 'trans'. Not bothering to say anything, he pulled open the door and gracefully slid inside.

Once more Dean winced as the kid slammed the door oblivious then slid straight up to him, breathing huskily, "I'm glad you came back," sort of meaning it. He pressed himself against the older man, though he had to be no more than twenty, twenty two, and compared to most of his 'clients' that was young. But whatever his age, Dean had to be just about the best looking punter he had ever serviced.

There was that lawyer that turned up once a month. He may be good looking but his fists hurt. He paid for the privilege and Sammie always got two days off after but that was because no one wanted to pay for a battered hooker. He was due at the end of the week but he did not think about fists as he concentrated on this man. He even smelt good.

"Where to, Sam?" Dean asked then pulled away from the curb, the name bitter on his tongue.

"Sammie!" with an eye roll. "Same as yesterday?" he suggested. "Depends what you want." Looking over into the backseat he added, "There's plenty of room in the back of your beautiful car." He did not really like the huge thing but he was not going to admit it as it was obviously valued, being so well looked after.

Dean stared straight ahead, his hands tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. The last time he had been with someone in the back of the Impala it had been an High School Sweetheart and he had thought it love. Now it was to be a whore. He had to keep reminding himself that Sammie was only with him for the money in his pocket, no doubt totally unaware that he had banished the dark visions, the bad memories from constantly playing in his head. Years worth of memories.

But whore or not, Dean wanted that mouth on his. Wanted to feel his heat, his passion. He wanted to amerce himself in him. Just for a while, he wanted to know nothing but the feel, taste and smell of this beautiful boy pressed up so tight beside him.

Pulling into the same space as previously, Sammie told him to drive on further, turn the corner and into the abandoned building. He was suspicious but Sammie just said, "It's hot out there," but he knew sometimes Hutch came to spy on him and he did not want to share this mark with anyone, even that much.

Dean sat looking at the smooth pale face as the boy's hand slid into his jeans pocket, the same one he had fetched the cash from yesterday, "What have you got for me today?"

"Enough for what I want," mesmerised by a mole by the boy's nose. He wanted to touch it with the tip of his tongue. He tilted his head to the left noticing the boy had a couple more, by his mouth, on his cheek. He had a random weird thought, wondering if they would all taste the same.

"And just what do you want?" still talking softly, kneeling up on the seat, leaning forwards, pushing his hand down onto the prominent bulge in the man's jeans, smiling, knowing he was 'gagging' for him. His mouth breathing so close to his but he just sat there. Why did the man just sit there?

The youngster was so beautiful but why the pretence? Dean wanted him, was here willing to pay for his 'company', so why the pretence that the boy wanted him too? He had had enough of lies and things being one thing, pretending to be another. He moved quickly, pushing the boy off him, back against the door, holding his throat and saw, not fear, but a wariness cross the boy's eyes as he sat tense, watching.

Moving to hold the side of his face rather than jaw, Dean pulled the hundred dollars from his pocket and forced them into one in the so tight jeans Sammie wore.

"There's your money. I want your mouth on my prick. I want you on your back, naked, legs wrapped around me as I fuck you. What I don't want is you to pretend that you actually want it too. Don't lie to me. Just give me value for money." And he surged forwards pulling Sammie's face close to his and kissed him.

Sammie did not return the kiss, turning his face away, pushing Dean off him. Dean sat back breathing hard, staring at him. "Fine. You get what you pay for," bitterness in his voice. He should have known he was just another asshole. "I don't kiss my '_clients_' 'n' if you want to cum in my mouth you're wearing a rubber. And you're damn well wearing one if you go near my ass!"

Dean said nothing. He just sat breathing deeply, trying to fight down the surge of anger he felt. He wanted to kiss him, wanted it so much, maybe more than anything else but that was ridiculous. The boy was a damn whore and he was there for sex not love. He pushed those lips with his thumb, wanting to wipe away the scowl as they were set in an angry line. He wanted them pliant, giving, hot and luscious as he knew they could be.

He had not been pretending, well, Sammie conceded, obviously, but out of all the sleazy creeps he had to go with, he was glad that this one had come back and above the others, he did want him. Getting a trick that he actually felt an attraction to was as much as he could hope for. It was not as if he could do anything else. Be anything else. No one was going to fall in love with a hooker. This was not the movies. People used, fucked, beat and killed hookers. They did not fall in love with them. They did not rescue them. The only one that could do that was himself. He was not stupid, just scared and scarred.

He could read, write and stuff but who was going to give a real job to someone who had not been to school since he was fourteen and had nowhere to live other than a cheep hotel room shared with three other hustlers? All he knew how to do was suck and take it in the ass and deal with the pain and occasional beating.

Obviously he had not asked for this life and he had managed successfully not to fall into the drug trap. He had a substantial stash of money hidden and a plan for when his appeal diminished along with his saleability. He was going to get out before Hutch threw him out.

At present his 'protector' did. He kept the police and the known weirdoes away and that one, that had slipped through and put Sammie in the emergency room, followed him in but he knew it was only because he made the bastard money. Because he was popular. His tricks came back, again and again. If he did not know what would happen if he tried, he would go it alone but there was no such thing as independent 'contractors', not on these streets, not in this city. Hutch was good at his job. He had a lot of 'contacts'. There was no where else to go. Another town, another city? There would also be another 'Hutch'.

Now there was this one, that had turned out to be as much an asshole as all the others, just better looking and staring at his mouth again. That thumb rubbing his lips had been none too gentle but as Sammie thought it wise not to move, the pressure lessened as did the fierceness in the man's expression. Now he just looked so damn sad. He continued to sit still, his hand behind him on the door handle just in case, and waited till he was sure it was safe to speak.

Dean kept rubbing those lips, his thumb slipping inside to run along the bottom as the boy relaxed under his touch. Dragging his gaze upwards, he saw the eyes, so suspicious, so wary, intent on him and he felt shame. He could be frightening he knew. He had cultivated it as, not only another weapon in their 'career' as hunters, but as a defence for being brought up in a life on the road where he was young and pretty. In days gone by, if things had been slightly different, he could have been the one sat in some strangers car wondering if he was going to get out alive.

If something had of happened to Dad there were only so many ways a kid could make money. He tilted his head again, looking at Sammie wondering, "Do you have any family?"

"No!"

"Oh," and just carried on studying that face, lost in his appraisal, not hearing the bitterness in the boy's answer.

It was so damn beautiful to him. The skin was flawless, except for the moles which just seemed perfect and a slight discolouring on his left cheekbone which did not. His fingertips caressed it. A bruise. A fading bruise. It made him angry once more and yet again not sure at who. The eyes watching him were now a shimmering pale brown and he supposed had witnessed so much. They were the oldest part of him. He was curious that they seemed a differing colour. He wondered what the boy saw in his own.

His fingers continued exploring, running lightly over a gently curving eyebrow, shadowed as that soft dark brown hair acted a curtain down his narrow face. He brushed it back thinking he should have it cut shorter to make him look older.

Everything, the pale tight t-shirt, the long fringeless hair, the set of his jaw, were all designed, he realised to make Sammie appear younger than he was. Up close he looked sixteen, seventeen. Stood on that corner, so vulnerable and seeming defenceless, he looked much younger. All part of the appeal he supposed.

Dean must have moved closer as he could feel the boy's breath lightly on his lips as he licked them and he so needed to kiss him.

If the man did not do something soon, it was going to be far too long to get everything he had paid for done and Hutch was going to be angry, again. But even though he was still pissed off at the jerk, he loved the way he was looking at him. It was as if he was worshiping him, truly admiring him. He knew he was beautiful, hell, he traded on it, but this was different. A little freaky, but once more he felt drawn to him. He just made him feel worth something, something more than dirty cash. He so wanted him to kiss him. He ducked his head to look at the hand on his thigh, pressing firmly, but not painfully.

Dean sat back quickly remembering where he was as the boy looked down. He too looked at his hand, high on the boys thigh, and removed it as if burnt. Sammie looked up at him, "It's okay. You've paid for it," spoken quietly.

Yes, he had. For the moment Dean had been somewhere else than in a car, in a disused warehouse, having paid for a whore. His left hand felt the wheel of his beloved Impala and he moved back quickly, opening the door and swinging out, closing the door and leaning back against it, hands covering his face. He had had so many experiences of the sexual kind in this car over the years but not like this. It felt wrong to be using it to have paid for sex in. Dropping his hands, he laughed at the stupidity of it all. He was no prude and it was just a car.

What the hell was wrong with him now? According to the cheep plastic watch on Sammie's wrist, he had been gone for over half an hour already and they had not done anything yet. If he tried to leave, would the man try and stop him? But he would know where to find him and if Hutch knew he had 'stiffed' a client, he would take it out on his ass, literally. That man used any excuse to 'teach him a lesson'. He got out of the car slowly, wincing at the squeal of the hinges.

Leaning back, his hands on the perfect black, Dean just scrutinized the dirt in front of him, willing himself to just tell the kid to take the money and leave. He would go back and tell John it was time to go, go anywhere. They were meant to be resting up before the next 'bad thing' needed their 'attention' but maybe it was time to move on. A pair of blue and white pumps entered his vision, placed between his feet.

Standing before him, Sammie thought once more how sad the man looked. It was almost as if he had the fate of the world weighing on his shoulders and it was crippling him. Whatever was causing him such distress, Sammie knew he could make him forget, if only for a few minutes. He moved even closer, the man's eyes watching his face intently and, dropping his gaze to the man's lips, he thought 'fuck it', then let his body lie against him, sort of sinuously smoothing himself onto the larger frame from the groin up.

Dean did not move. He hitched his breath in as once more he felt Sammie's breath brushing his lips as he tilted his head up. The boy fixed him in the eyes then licking his lips caught hold of Dean's head, a hand either side and pressed his lips against his. And once more, as the boy began to kiss him, thoroughly, Dean's mind quietened. He thought of nothing other than the feel of those soft warm lips on his. He let Sammie kiss him, keeping his hands down at his sides, only lightly resting his fingertips against the boy's thighs.

Sammie could feel Dean relaxing beneath him, the tension giving way, leaving just the firmness of a well conditioned body turning pliant and supple. Still kissing him, pushing his tongue inside, he let it explore the man's mouth as he pulled his hands down to run over the sides of his chest enjoying the solidness, on to his waist and, pulling out the t-shirt, pushed his way up, under the clothes, hands pressing against muscled sides. He was determined to get as much satisfaction from this as he could because he just knew somehow that he was going to pay for the wasted time later.

Enough. Dean had to touch, had to hold and his own hands came up Sammie's back, pushing the too tight top up and out of the way. His mouth was so 'juicy', the kiss so hot and dirty but not sloppy. He stopped being passive and thrust his tongue into the other's mouth, taking over, taking control as he pulled the lighter frame harder against himself. His fingers spread out holding his head, the hair silky between them and his other hand travelled down and tried unsuccessfully again to slide inside those damn tight jeans.

The hand, holding his ass so tightly, pulled him forwards again onto the man, still leaning against the huge car and there was no missing the bulge of his arousal as it pressed into his belly. Reluctantly, Sammie broke back from the kiss, licking his lips, breathing deep and, before the man could move, he pushed his face into his neck to leave a quick bite, his hands coming back around to press either side of the firm belly and he pushed away slightly, letting his body slide down against the other.

Dean tried to recapture that mouth but then Sammie was moving, moving down and he just stared at the top of his head, hardly daring to move. After thinking about it for hours, he was going to experience that fantastic mouth on him, on his so, damned, hard, prick. He grew even harder just at the expectation and held his breath at the delicate fingers opening his jeans as Sammie crouched before him, on one knee in the dirt.

He should not be kneeling in dirt. He should be on a bed with crisp clean cool sheets and Dean decided… all thoughts fled as warm breath contrasted with the cool air as Sammie pulled him from the constrictive pants and holding him in his palm, looked up once into his eyes then took him in past those, kiss swollen lips. He could not help it, he bucked forwards at the first contact then leant back as the boy's other hand pushed against his hip.

Dean had to put a hand to that hair, running the length through his fingers again and again as he let the boy have his way. He knew what to do, after all he'd obviously.. 'stop thinking about it, just let him do what he could do so well'. And he could. He seemed to know all the places to press just right with his tongue, his teeth grazing that so sensitive spot with just the right pressure and he was not rushing him. He was drawing little whimpers and moans out of Dean which he would be embarrassed to admit to as his own.

Sammie knew that the knack to this, other than the bare mechanics, was to listen. He knew how to get it over and done with quickly by swiftly finding the right technique by the noises men made. Adversely, he could also tell from those same noise, how to bring real satisfaction. It was part of what made them come back, time after time, rather than try someone else. And he wanted this one to keep coming back, no matter his 'strangeness'. It was one he could deal with. Besides, the man's mouth could be considered a perk of the job.

As Sammie pulled back, easing off before it was over too soon, he idly wondered what it would be like to have that mouth on him. Would he be able to force the kind of noises he was making out of him? Probably he would never know but he could fantasise about it next time someone ineffectually went down on him. He was good at faking it too.

Those fingers holding his balls, gently squeezing, manipulating him. The tongue licking across, around, pressing at his slit as the lips held the head firm then it was hitting the throat and being constricted as Sammie swallowed around him. The boy's other hand had left his hip and was spread on his belly, thumb rubbing back and forth just above his prick, the nail so tantalising on his sensitive skin.

Dean's own hands were back, palms on the cool metal of the Impala because he so wanted to grab the boy's head and just fuck again and again into that mouth but he couldn't, shouldn't, and besides, he had never in memory had a blow job quite this good. Not so much the expertise, though there was that, but he was so turned on, so 'into' it, into Sammie that even if he had have been crap at this, Dean believed it would be one of the best he had ever had. He never wanted the feeling to stop but if Sammie carried on much longer and did not let him cum, he would literally explode or go insane or both. His whole body, his consciousness, was all being drawn to Sammie's touch. It was a glorious feeling, as if he had found a cure for a disease he had not know he had but was dying from. He was like a drug.

"Sammy," he panted, a hand resting on the back of the bobbing head, trying to be gentle, "Please!"

Sammie smiled to himself. As if he could not recognise the sounds of a grown man who could not stand the exquisite torture a moment more. Lifting up slightly, he put both hands on that quivering, so damn tight belly and let Dean cum, making sure it was in his mouth and not his throat. He had never gotten around to pulling a rubber from his jeans. He was kind of infatuated with the freckles and all but not stupid.

Spitting, wiping his mouth, Sammie rose to his feet, relishing the look on Dean's face. He looked fucked, his face laid bare, flushed and raw. Nothing was hidden and he moved to press against his side, carefully running a hand up under the grey t-shirt where he placed his palm on Dean's stomach, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing and pushed his face next to his, cheek against cheek, breathing hotly onto his ear, feeling Dean's breaths on his.

Dean swallowed, took in a much needed breath then swallowed again. His left hand snaked around to the bottom of Sammie's spine and he pulled him in close to his side. He _was_ fucked. He just stood there breathing with the boy's hot breath on the side of his face. Leaning against the car, the boy in his arm, he wanted to stay here but coming back to himself, he told Sammie not to move and extricating his arm, he 'put himself away'.

Dean turned to him and Sammie wondered, what now, as he had closed his jeans. He was not that much older than himself so surely he could get it up again soon. He had paid for his ass and although he could quite happily not get buggered right now, he could not afford to give half the money back. The man's hand covered his own, still on Dean's chest and an arm encircled his back once more.

Those damn lips looked so luscious now, truly sex swollen and Sammie's clear golden, hazel eyes were searching his own. Dean smiled and leant forwards to unashamedly nuzzle Sammie's neck. The boy stretched it for him and he put his lips to the pulse in an open mouthed kiss then gently sucked up the skin, quickly letting it go. He was sure hickies would not be appreciated. Then he went for that mouth once more.

He kissed him slow and deep, tasting himself in there, once more thinking how wickedly hot and dirty Sammie's mouth was. Dirty in the good, get your rocks off way, not unclean. He did not want to think about all the others but, too late, the thought was there.

He wanted him all to himself. What would his dad say if he took Sammie back and said he was coming with them? Would the kid even want to come with them? He stepped back separating himself from the boy. He was being selfish. Sammie was safer being a whore on the streets than with the Winchesters. No one was safe around them.

"I'll take you back," and he got into the car, not looking at the lad again.

Sammie tottered losing his balance, opening his eyes as Dean removed himself. 'What the…?'

==000==

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean? You going out again?"

"Yes, Sir"

"Am I invited?"

"No."

"Oh.. Fine." Dean managed to practically make it out of the door. "So, Dean, where you going?"

"Out. Thought I'd go to a bar or something."

"Gonna be an expensive nite?" indicating the pocket Dean had just shoved a fair amount of cash into.

How come his father could notice all the small details but miss the massive 'fuck off' expression he was giving him?

"Goodnite, _John_," and he was out of there before the man could stop or follow him.

=0=

He was not there. Dean looked around panicking. He gripped the steering wheel, breathing hard, trying to calm himself. Maybe he had taken the night off, after all whores had to sleep just like everyone else.

He had not said another word to the kid as they had driven back and had not even acknowledged him as he asked if it was okay to keep all the money. Dean had not expected that. Hell, he had not expected any of this. And worst of all, he had not expected that once he had gotten back to the hotel room, he wanted to go straight back out and find him again.

It was as if being with the whore took the pain away. Sammie took the pain, the emptiness away. He was becoming addictive. A balm on his soul. Could that be another term for love? No, he was not in love with the kid. That was ridiculous. It was lust. Must be. Lust and loneliness. After all the women, all the alcohol, had failed to fill him up, he was somehow drawn to finding solace in a teenage boy. And not just any boy, obviously, because, except from that make out session one time in the locker room at one of the many High Schools he had been forced to attend, he had never been with a male. Had never wanted to be. But Sammie _was_ like a drug. A painkilling drug. And he was wearing off.

Dean had managed to last long enough to go get something to eat with his dad and had mentioned about leaving town. His father had just shrugged and said he was okay either way but had agreed to find them a simple 'salt and burn', something to give them a direction to go. He had already called his friend Bobby Singer but he had nothing on the radar. Dean hated it when things were this quiet. It always felt like the calm before the storm and he was fed up with getting piss wet through!

He scanned around again. Although he could see plenty of merchandise on sale, he could not see Sammie. He chewed his lip, hands moving around the steering wheel as he considered putting the Impala in first and heading off to Sammie's 'spot'. He sat back. He did not want to see him with someone else. He would probably beat the crap out of the 'client'.

There were several boys looking over at him, some putting on a display, trying to catch his eye but no one approached. He slid over and wound the window down giving them all the once over, a couple taking a step forwards as he looked. He frowned. There that one. It was the one he had seen Sammie with. He caught his eye and beckoned him over.

Billy moved to the car and leant in. Sammie was right. He was a damn fine looking man. But he was Sammie's. Hutch's boys did not poach from each other. There were plenty of sad bastards to go around. But if he had tired of Sammie that was a different mater. "Where Sam?" the man asked. Guess not, then.

"Busy," he replied.

"Where is he?"

"I just told you."

"When will he _stop_ being busy?"

"Twenty for a hand job. Thirty for a blow. And if you want my ass, its fifty for straight with a rubber. Take it or leave it!" he waited a heartbeat then pushed himself from the car and took a step back making sure his hips tilted as that would be the view from the interior.

Dean's head began to pound. He rubbed at his temples. "Get in!" he called and waited for the blond to close the door then drove off down the street causing the teen next to him to ask panicky, "What the fuck man? Where d'you think you're taking me?" Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a twenty, throwing it at the boy. "What's your name?"

"Billy"

"Well, Billy. You friends with Sammie?"

"We live together."

Dean turned down the next alley he saw and drove slowly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Near the far end he stopped the car but did not dare to ease his grip. Through clenched teeth he asked, "So you're his damn boyfriend?"

"Look Mister. I sell myself just like he does. If you want something, fine. If not, just leave us the fuck alone."

Dean looked over at the kid and damn did he looked scared. He let out a breath and relaxed back. He twisted in the seat, leaning his arm on the back, holding his head as he studied the hustler. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." But it was a lie. One he would not be able to get a way with much longer. The man did not believe him, he could tell by the narrowing of the eyes.

"Tell me. How old is Sammie? The truth," not as old as this one he reckoned. He looked to be nearing his twenties, the same as himself, unless he had aged prematurely due to the life he lived. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was wane, not pale. He had a feeling Billy was finding it harder and harder every day.

Billy could understand the man's fascination with Sammie. He had been in love with him almost from the moment Hutch had brought him to the hotel room they shared and told him to make him feel at home. From the look in the boy's eyes and the flinch as the pimp had stroked his cheek, Hutch already had. But sometimes it pissed him off how Sammie got them begging for him. They always came back for more while he ended up with the leftovers. But then, at night, or rather the morning, when Sammie crawled into bed beside him, it made it all better, bearable.

Billy looked at the twenty he was turning over in his hands and sighed, "Sixteen. A couple of months back. November."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean felt a stabbing pain behind them. He had hoped he was older. He felt like crap. Men like him that prayed on kids were the scum of the earth. "That's not young in our world," Billy said seeing the pained visage.

"That doesn't make it better."

Billy made a decision. For a start that was different. Usually the men wanted them younger, fresh and if Sammie had to service men just like he did, he aught to be able to have a least one he liked. "Sammie likes you."

"Sure he does," he was paying way over the odds or Billy went cheep.

"If you pay Hutch enough, you could get him exclusive."

"Yeah?" wistful not hopeful. They had to leave this place. Even if he wanted to stay, which he did not, they could not.

"Yeah. I bet…"

"How much for the night?"

"Me or him?" but he already knew.

"Sorry, kid," looking at him, trying not to look disdainful or pitying.

"Two hundred. Hutch will try to get more but two's right for Sammie." He felt like a pimp now. It did not sit well. He had to get out real soon but he had nowhere else to go. Billy's future did not look promising. Nineteen was just not bankable. He was not good looking enough to transition to being an adult escort. His time was just about up. Hutch would wipe his hands of him soon. And he had a real bad feeling as to how he would solve a problem like Billy. He would sell him off to a particular type of client and he would not see the light of day again. He had to get out and soon.

Dean started the car. "I'll take you back," and saw the dejection on the kid's face and something else, resignation possibly. He put his hand in his pocket once more and counted out more cash. "Here. Take the night off," and handed the folded wad over. Billy did not say anything but looked damn grateful. "Don't mention it kid," and he was not being sarcastic. It could so easily have been him.

He parked across and down the street and, as Billy left, not slamming the door he noticed, Dean set up vigil. Billy pulled the money out of his pocket, counting as he went. He stopped, thinking to go back, asking if the man had made a mistake. Quickly before any of the others or, more importantly, Hutch or his heavies could see, he hid the hundred, putting the twenty back in his pocket as his earnings.

=0=

It was over an hour before a pretty expensive looking car pulled up, letting out it's passenger then sped away. He was still wearing the too small, pale blue shirt. It was getting late, the streetlamps having come on while Dean waited. The light shone on the boy's hair and Dean thought he saw that 'glow' again as at that first sight of him. Just the lamp light but he moved, turning over the car and before he could change his mind, he pulled along the curb behind his obsession.

Sammie heard the car without looking around. He had been ready to call it a night, if Hutch would agree. He had another hundred in his pocket so had done more than enough for one day but the bastard was greedy and it did all mean he could hide a little more.

He spent as little as possible. If he could get his tricks to take him for food he would. Some bought him presents which he sold. All the cash went into his escape fund. He did not turn around but looked back over his shoulder playing the coquette, part of his success and yes, it was the big, black, ugly car with the far from ugly man inside.

He felt dirty. He was dirty. He was covered in another man's spunk and normally not caring what a punter thought, he did not want Dean to see him like this. To smell another man's sweat on him. Another man's spittle. They all had their 'kinks'.

He was staring at him with those emerald eyes and slowly Sammie moved to the car. Hands on knees, he bent down but said nothing, just watched Dean reach a decision, "Spend the night with me."

"Don't you want to know how much?" he stepped back looking over his shoulder. He had seen the bastard's reflection approaching in the black paintjob. "I'll have to clear it with the 'boss'," motioning to Hutch more for his benefit than Dean's. He did not want the man to think he was trying to stiff him on the last payment. Dean just nodded.

Sammie walked up to his 'protector'. Was he really that ugly or was it what he did to them that made it appear so? No, Sammie decided, he was born that bad. He handed over the hundred and accepted fifty back. He should not have to give up that much. Better than the alternative he supposed.

"What does Mr Impotent want now?" Hutch sneered, indicating to the black car with his head.

"The night."

"Try to get three hundred. At least you'll get some sleep," and he laughed. It was not pleasant.

Sammie had had to explain all the extra time somehow so had stuck with his original lie. He moved back to the waiting car. "Three hundred," and was puzzled by the knowing smile.

"Tell the Bastard, two."

"Don't you think I'm worth it?" pouting, twisting his hips non too subtly in Dean's eye line.

"Yes. But is he?" indicating the slime ball that had Sammie caught.

Sammie smiled conspiratorially and twisting at the waist called back, "He say's, two." There was a growl then a begrudging, "Get that tight ass back here by eight," and he stomped off.

"You know where to go?" as he slammed the door closed.

"Yes" mentally apologising to the Impala.

"Can we go via the seven. You need to buy me a toothbrush."

Deans knuckles whitened yet again as he said, "Fine," sounding anything but.

Pulling up outside the store, he handed over a twenty. "Well I ain't going in," as Sammie looked at the money but did not move. "Get what you need," and he watched as Sammie grinned like a big kid and bounced out of the car, "And don't slam…" but it was too late.

Five minutes and he was back with a paper sack. Dean held out his hand. "What?" asked Sammie innocently.

"Change?"

"Nope," and laughed with genuine delight at the put upon expression.

Dean said nothing as he pulled away from the store. He should have known from all the years of his dad sending another teenager into a store or gas station. There was _never_ any change.

"You said you knew where to go?" Sammie asked puzzled at the direction they were headed.

"I do," glancing briefly across. But said nothing more, just driving with the teenager sat watching him, gripping the bag.

==000==

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Sammie looked up at the hotel as they approached. Not the swankiest place he had been taken but not the worst. He followed Dean into the reception and felt truly dirty at the way the greasy man behind the glass stared him up and down whilst Dean asked for a room for one night. "What? Another one?"

"Yes."

"Same card?"

"Yes."

The man laughed, "Guess you dunna want your '_daddy_' to see this un?" nodding at Sammie with a sly grin then handed over a key through the slot.

Dean just turned on his heel and Sammie followed as he marched up the stairs. He moved quickly, searching for the right room and Sammie decided discretion was the better part of valour and did not ask any of the burning questions springing to his mind.

As soon as they were in the room, Dean had his hand on his face, thumb rubbing on his chin. All Sammie could hope was that he could not feel any dried fluids there and stepped back, saying quietly that he wanted to use the bathroom and would it be alright if he had a shower.

Damn, Dean could do with a drink right about now. The boy looked so young, stood there clutching the bag to his chest, waiting for an answer. He _was_ so young. Young, slim and only just beginning to fill out his height, which was nearing his own. He was about the age his brother would have been. His heart missed a beat. Fuck! He still had the key in his hand. He nodded then said, "Be here when I get back," and practically fled the room.

Sammie just stood there blinking. All sorts of scenarios were going through his head, most of them bad. He looked around, checking the window, looking for exits and anything he could use if he needed to protect himself. What had Dean left for? The worst he could think was he had gone to get someone else but dismissed it. He got the impression that this man did not like to share. He wondered if his boyfriend minded?

Maybe that was why the dark blond was paying for a hustler, something closer to his own age if he had a '_daddy_'? There had to be a reason. Dean was so damn hot, he would have them falling at his feet as soon as he walked into a gay bar. Maybe he was married or something? Maybe he just liked buying it? Maybe…?

'You're just wasting time,' and shaking his head, he went to check out the bathroom. There was actually soap and shampoo fixed to the wall. He smiled. He was going to use it all. Shame the towel was not worth stealing. He locked the door then emptied the bag on the side. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Mouthwash. A Douche and three bags of peanut M&M's, God's greatest creations.

=0=

When the credit card company got stiffed for the bill in a couple a weeks, they could blame it on the fact that Mr. A. Butler was an alcoholic. Dean sat on the bed taking another gulp of beer, wondering what the hell the kid was doing in there. Whatever, he sounded happy, if the really off key singing was any indication.

He had gotten back and, on securing the room out of sight of the boy, discovered the paper sack stuffed in the corner of the windowsill. He just had to look and found bags of candy. Putting it back, he salted the sill then drew the curtains. No one was overlooking them but he still felt that he was doing something wrong.

Then taking his jacket off, he opened another beer then sat on the bed. Then he took his boots off and sat on the none too steady chair. Then he drank the beer and took his shirt off and sat on the bed. Then he pulled his phone out. Then he put it back.

He got up and sat in the chair. Then he took his watch off, putting it on the cheep nightstand. Then he took the condom out of his wallet and put it next to the watch. He put his wallet away. Then he took it out again and counted out three hundred dollars. It was a lot of money. A hell of a lot of money. But then it was not as if he had had to work for it, 'Thankyou very much, Mr Butler'. Good job he was just a figment of an application form or else he would have felt sorry for shafting the guy.

Putting the money on the table, he opened and drank another beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling so damn stupid. He was nervous as hell and acting like a virgin groom on his wedding night about to find out if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. What the Hell was the kid doing in there?

He went to get another beer and took his t-shirt off instead. Holding it in his hand he looked down at his pentagram pendent. He rarely took it off since his father had given it to him as a child, but knowing just what his dad would think of what he was doing now, he slipped it off, over his head and, wrapping up the cord, put it deep into his pocket. He opened yet another bottle and heard the bathroom door finally open.

He froze in place, the bottle half way to his lips as he took in the 'vision' before him. Even more so than stood under that streetlamp, Sammie looked angelic. His smooth skin had a pinkish bloom, testament to the temperature of the water, a cloud of steam following him from the shower. The light hitting his skin glistened as he had not bothered to completely dry himself, water running in rivulets down from his hair. Dean watched one move from shoulder onto his chest, seemingly drawn to a nipple and he wanted to lick it away.

Sammie took a quick breath at the sight before him. The older man was a little bigger than he had thought. Well toned and muscled. Not overly so, speaking for someone that naturally stayed in shape, not by hours spent in a gym. He was glad to see the freckles, though pale, were, everywhere, and his skin was smooth and perfect except for a three narrow scars running across his stomach. Shit! Had somebody cut him? branded him? He had seen a lot in the last couple of years and he so hoped someone had not hurt him too.

"Can I have one of those?" indicating the bottle frozen in mid air.

"You're too young to drink," and received such a scathing look that Dean smiled. Again he was reminded of someone but could not place it. He broke his inertia and offered up the full bottle in his hand, holding it out on extended arm. Sammie moved to accept, throwing his bundle of clothes towards the chair, missing, and as he took the bottle from his hand, those fingers brushed Dean's and he went warm. He watched as Sammie put lips to the neck and closing his eyes, took a long drink. By the time he pulled the bottle down, Dean was hard.

"I got you something," Dean told him and, digging in his back pocket, he brought out a cord with the small charm he had knotted in. He was sick of wondering if he was under some kind of spell, if Sammie was some kind of incubus. It was silver and if a spell was involved it should hopefully negate the effects.

Sammie looked intrigued but wary. Dean moved forwards to fasten it around his neck but the boy stepped backwards and put out his right arm. There could be several reasons the kid did not want a leather thong tied around his neck he guessed, most of which would not occur to a 'normal' teenager. He wrapped it around the slender wrist and tied it securely, so conscious of his closeness, feeling the heat rise from his reddened skin.

Dean backed off, opening and finishing yet another beer, all the time letting his eyes travel over the figure before him. Blinking, asking himself one last time if he was really going to do this, he slowly put the bottle on the table and took a steadying breath. Turning his eyes back, he once more drank in the sight of the slim figure waiting, stood examining the charm, a slight smile to his lips.

Taking a step forwards, Dean took the bottle away from him, reaching out to put it on the table, missing as his eyes were watching another one of those rivulets. One more breath and he had hands around Sammie's waist, pulling him forwards as he sank to his knees and licked the moisture up his stomach, then pulled him down to straddle his thighs as he took that small dark, dusty pink areola between his lips.

The move had been sudden and Sammie held onto Dean's cool shoulders, looking down as the man practically suckled on him. The denim covering Dean felt rough against his so recently scrubbed skin, still pink from the shower. He had cleansed every part of himself, inside and out and even though he had noticed the money on the table, he let himself believe in a fantasy that the hands, grasping his sides so securely, belonged to a lover.

He ran his own hands over the broad shoulders, betting Dean hated the freckles but he loved them and wanted to lick them all but could not reach as his nipple was gently bitten and the hands were descending.

Dean pulled the thin towel apart, letting it drop and pulled Sammie more securely against himself. He looked up into his face and saw his eyes becoming dark with lust. His own were taking it all in. The pinkness of his skin slowly fading, warm under his touch. His wet hair was cooling as he ran fingers up into it, wanting to stop it from clinging to his face. It made him look so much younger, no matter what he was doing with his hips.

One hand across the narrow back, he used his other at the base of his spine to still the movement. Sammie looked down at him, a question in his eyes, a slight frown on his forehead. He just pulled him in tight and opening his mouth, stretched up to kiss him.

The boy tasted of mint and chocolate and Dean wished now that he did not taste of beer but he had needed it like he had never needed Dutch courage before. No matter what many people had assumed, he had never had sex with another man, just that one, inept fumbling, and he stupidly wanted to be good for Sammie. He did not truly believe the boy would care one way or the other but the way he was kissing him made him want the boy to enjoy it.

Dean moved and the fastening on his jeans rubbed against Sammie's prick, his growing prick. Rarely did it happen without him working at it and he made an involuntary soft moan as the fastening caught him again. Then he was lifted backwards off Dean and he unknowingly give a disgruntled noise that made Dean smile as he lifted him to his feet then reclaimed his mouth whilst moving to the bed.

It was all awkward and fumbling and Dean once more was reminded of that groom but then he supposed, this was virgin territory for him. Sammie's hands were running lightly over his back and he stopped just to kiss him, to keep kissing him, chasing his tongue back into his mouth then he pulled back, an arm around his waist, and pulled off the spread then stripped back the sheet. They were not crisp but they were clean and he sort of 'threw' Sammie down onto the bed, his skin still glowing pinkly against the white sheets.

Sammie crawled backwards more firmly onto the bed and watched Dean as he stood and took in all of him. He wished he did not have the bruises on his thighs from fingers too rough or the bite mark on his belly, the hickie sore and angry, especially when Dean put fingertips to it. He reached his own hand up, tracing Dean's cheekbone, down his face, under his jaw. That was what he had always liked about men, certain men, that hard corner of jaw with such softness hidden behind. That and the hands. He like strong hands. His own were too delicate. Not small, but still delicate.

Dean's hands ran up his sides as he climbed onto the bed to kneel over him. He could feel calluses, the rough skin against his own smooth flesh. He shivered as Dean trailed the back of a hand across his waist. His eyes began to close and he licked his lips, lifting a knee, for once wanting to be fucked. If he had his way, it would be slow and sensuous, just like he longed for. He yearned for that lover.

The only word Dean could think of to describe the figure on the bed at that moment, as he looked down at him, catching his licking of lips, his head going back and his body twisting, was, wanton. An old fashioned word and it called another to mind. Ravish. That's what he wanted to do. But he was a little unsure of the mechanics. It could not be that different from the anal he had had before, but that had always seemed to take so much prep and he wanted to just, dive right in.

He knelt up and undid his jeans, catching Sammie watching him through slit eyes and the lad licked his lips again. Bending down, a hand either side of his head, he just had to kiss. Wet, heavy, stealing his breath. The boy's hands pushed at his chest, grasping his pecks, running up to his shoulders. Then back, running down his chest and stomach to grab hold of his waist band and finish the job he had started.

Sammie pushed a hand down onto Dean's prick, not surprised in the least how ready it was for him but was surprised as his hand was pulled out and pushed down to the bed by his head. Dean grinned down at him then he felt that mouth on his neck, kissing, sucking up his skin but letting it go before he marked it. He licked down his collar bone and had him squirming, pushing his chest up as that mouth captured his nipple once more. There were fingers rubbing over his other and he just lay back helplessly groaning at the double assault and he shuddered as he felt Dean's prick, now free from his pants, rub against his own as he moved above him.

Dean was sort of doing what he would to a female. Sort of doing what he liked. He had always appreciated attention given to his nipples but it was weird feeling very little there when he went to cup a breast. Sammie did not have a spare ounce of flesh anywhere, being just the right side of skinny. There was no extra muscle either. He was just a kid and Dean could not stop touching him. He worked his mouth down his body, wanting to taste, wanting to feel, his hands searching but always trying not to be too rough. He spent time licking circles on his stretched flat belly as he was really plucking up courage for what he intended on doing next.

He could not believe this. Sammie thrust his hips up figuring he would find out if Dean was going to do what he thought he was. The man looked up at him, wet chin sticking into his belly. Sammie just stared back 'please, please, please' running through his mind. Dean gave his belly another wet sucking kiss, keeping eye contact then said hoarsely, "I've never done this before," and before he could utter a reply, he had sat back on his heels and Sammie's shins and taking a breath, nervously licked the end of his prick.

Dean had no clue what it would taste of and did not think he could even describe it but the boy's erect prick did not taste anything as bad as he had thought it would. Really, it tasted pretty much like the rest of him, just the pre-cum that started as he did this was slightly bitter. The only thing he could do now he had started, as Sammie's hips left the bed, was go for it. He may never have been on this end but he had plenty of experience so, once more, he did to Sammie what he liked done to him.

Sammie's shoulders forced back onto the bed as his hips trust up. He had a hand on the short hair, his other clutching at the sheet beside him. He wished his legs were free so he could lift them up but they were trapped under Dean. He may not have done this before but Sammie did not care. He was doing alright by him. His fingers grasped the crown of Dean's head as he took him in deep but then he began to cough, choke as Sammie thrust upwards, lost in the sensations.

Dean sat back coughing, wiping his mouth, going red in the face as he fought to get his breath back. The boy sat up reaching for him, a frightened look on his face. He put a reassuring hand to his neck. This was harder than he had thought. He had been doing pretty well, all considered. At first he had thought it weird and a bit disgusting but as he successfully calmed his rebelling stomach and decided it was not that bad, he had gone for it. He had licked and sucked, hollowing his cheeks and kept moving, kept alternating 'caresses' with tongue, lips and suction. Then he had decided to take him as far as he could. He had opened his throat like he knew you were supposed to but as he had taken all of Sammie carefully, the lad had thrust up letting out a groan.

To that point, all the noises he had been making, Dean had taken as encouragement. They had sounded genuine and the brief looks he had captured had shown the young face flushed and eager. Damn, he could not stop coughing. He climbed off Sammie and the bed, stumbling into the bathroom, his hard-on making walking difficult. He ran the tap and drinking, finally got himself under control. He felt stupid again, the only thing making it worse would be if Sammie laughed at him.

Taking a final drink, he looked at himself in the mirror, blinked, then returned to the bedroom. Sammie was not laughing. He was sat on the bed, legs curled under him, hands clutching up the sheet and he looked terrified. And as Dean moved towards him, he lifted a hand up, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Please, I'm sorry," looking beseechingly up at him.

He watched the older man's every move. Watching for tells in case he was going to turn violent on him. It so easily could happen and often did. His eyes followed as Dean moved around the bed and picked up the remaining beer, popping the cap but instead of drinking, handed it to him.

Dean looked at him, shaking his head slightly. 'What have those bastards done to you?' he thought. He could tell he was expecting him to hit him. Slowly, Sammie took the bottle from his hand, tentively taking a drink then handed it back. Dean's throat was sore and he took a long pull but it just made him cough again.

Passing the half full bottle back, he instructed softly, "Sammy. Drink the beer. You look like you need it more than I do," and as he finally drank, still not taking those wary eyes off him, Dean took off his jeans and stood naked before the kid.

Sammie drank the last of the bottle, letting his eyes quickly run up and down the figure before him, feeling life begin to flood back into his prick which had deflated with his fear. He had thought he was going to 'get it' for trusting up into that mouth, and not the good 'it'. But he had been caught up and had truly been enjoying the blow job. He had not had that many, definitely not in comparison to the amount he had given, and it just happened.

Dean's throat hurt and he wondered if he should try again but looking down, he felt his own prick demanding attention. The kid seemed so, alluring was not the word, but his skin was so smooth, seeming alabaster glowing with an inner light, barely a blemish, just a smattering of freckles and small moles here and there, a larger one on his right forearm. Holding the sheet up on his lap, the hands twisted in the fabric, he reminded Dean of his thought of that groom and it seemed he was not the only nervous one.

He stepped to the bed and cupped Sammie's face in his palm, gazing into the questioning eyes. He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip and sitting sideways on the bed, pulled that face to meet him and kissed that bottom lip, sucking it between his own. Then the top, his hand sliding down the trim frame to pull the sheet from the boy's hands and away and throwing the empty bottle to the side.

Breathing onto his lips, staring into the bright eyes, he lowered Sammie to the bed, encouraging him to lie back. He moved above him to lie on him and saw the boy catch his bottom lip. He had to smile before capturing that mouth, his own lips gentle but gaining in strength as Sammie's legs opened beneath him, his hands coming up to run along Dean's sides, up onto his back, spreading out, feeling and exploring.

Sammie let himself get lost in those lips again, that tongue suddenly in his mouth, welcomed, not feeling of invasion or capture. He let a hand run down the man's spine and onto a firm buttock as he brought his knees up making himself open and available. The weight on him was wonderful. He was not crushed but felt anchored, Dean's prick lying along his own, feeling the friction as the older man began to move on him slowly but quickening as he gave encouragement.

Sammie was pushing up against him, raising his hips, his hands pulling at his back and Dean did not want to wait any longer. He wanted to know just what it would be like to be embedded within this wondrous creature. He broke off the kiss, rising up on taut arms, careful to put his weight on his legs not on the boy.

He looked to the side and groaned, realising he would have to move to reach the condom but Sammie pushed a hand under the left pillow and pulled a recognisable packet and small tube of lube out, handing both to Dean, appearing almost embarrassed. Dean guessed he was not the only one to prepare the room whilst the other was away.

Smiling, Dean quickly got the preliminaries done then, attention back on the brunette, waited, kind of wanting instruction. "It's okay," Sammie told him, "Just go in slow," and opened his legs more, canting his hips up. He relaxed and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, nodding as he looked up at him. He knew how to get himself prepared, had to, but did not want Dean to realise that the men he had already had that day had opened him up plenty. Still, as Dean placed his prick to his arsehole, he held his breath as he felt it push into him.

Dean had expected to have to do an amount of awkward prep but he took the boy at his word and as he pushed in slowly, he could not keep the smile from his face as Sammie accepted him. But, oh, he felt so tight around him, so hot and the sound of the boy catching in a breath made both his belly and prick jump. He held still, enjoying the constriction then, as he felt the tightness give slightly, pushed in further, watching Sammie's face as the boy's head pushed back against the pillow just as his body was pushing up onto him.

As he sank in deep to the root of his prick, he let his body sink also onto Sammie, the boy's legs coming up high and tight crossing his back. He pushed his forearms under Sammie's, lifting up on them so he could place a kiss on his cheek, nip at his lips, his chin, then moving along his jaw to his neck, stretched out for him. Sammie's hands were now splayed on his chest, pressing firmly and he pushed his face into the boy's neck as he so slowly pulled back, almost out of the hot cocoon then pushed gently back in.

Sammie's whole body arched backwards as Dean moved so slowly within him as if worried about hurting him but it felt so good. His hands now alternately pushing and grasping at the so firm chest, his head back as the man kissed, bit and lightly sucked at his neck. He used his legs, his feet pulling up on Dean's butt, trying to get him to go faster, to start to fuck him. It was all he could do, after all the man had paid to do what he wanted, not what Sammie wanted.

Dean could feel the feet pulling at him and lifting up, he stretched his arms tight so he could look down at the youngster's face. Hands grasping at his chest and he pushed into him a little harder as his nipple was pinched. Sammie looked up at him, his eyes dark and hooded and he panted, licking his lips, his body undulating in time to the rhythm of his feet. Dean grinned. Sammie was trying to get him to quicken his pace and looking at that face, he began to move at the urging.

Sammie's hands slid up that strong chest, one hand to the back of Dean's head, the other onto his back. He pulled, wanting his body close, wanting Dean to move on him, in him, quicker, deeper. But most of all he wanted him to kiss him.

Dean slowed his pace once more but each thrust was a little harder, pushing as deep as he could. He thought that the kid was becoming a demanding lover. Laughing to himself, he enjoyed watching the face, the hooded eyes, the lips licked and glistening as the mouth panted open. Still the hands clutched at him, the one on his head was becoming almost painful. He reached up grabbing the boy's wrist whilst twisting into him.

Sammie stilled as the hand grasped his wrist. His eyes widened as he realised he had done it again, he had gotten involved, caught up in the moment thinking that this was equal, thinking that he was here with this man because this man wanted him, wanted Sammie. He had forgotten that this man had paid him so he could do as he wished to him. The hand on his wrist forcing it to the bed by his head reminded him.

Breathing hard, Dean stilled too, wondering what was wrong. He saw the bite of the lip, the worry line appearing on Sammie's forehead and realised once more the kid thought he had done wrong. He smiled down, wanting to assure but it was full of lust as he took a little enjoyment from the wary expression under him. He shifted, capturing other wrist and placing it on the bed parallel to the other, he held him down, pumping into him, staring at those widened eyes then at that mouth as the boy panted.

He had wanted the man to fuck him harder but felt so angry at himself because due to his actions, he had changed this from an enjoyable fuck to the man taking him. He was thrusting into him hard now, leaning on forearms once more, his hands holding Sammie's wrists to the bed, staring into his face. His legs relaxed, no longer pulling but moved to accommodate the pressure. Still he felt his eyes drawn to the man's lips.

Dean had to kiss him. Letting his weight settle onto the boy, he stopped his thrusting and took that mouth, moving his wrists up over his head, he covered him, consumed him. The boy was hesitant then responded to his kiss slowly, first meeting his tongue with his own then joining in the duel then finally, as his body began to move slightly under him, he fought Dean's tongue, thrusting up into his mouth.

Slowly, shallowly, Dean began to move in him again, not being able to get enough of that mouth. Pulling back, nipping at his lips, sucking at them, the bottom then the top, then plunging in, once more moving lips on lips till he caught Sammie's tongue and sucked it into his mouth. Continuing to suck, he brought his hands down to circle under the boy's shoulders and pulled him close as he pushed into him once more, slow and deep then knew he could not do this much longer.

He buried his face in Sammie's neck as he set to rocking into him, one arm under his shoulders, his other hand moving between them, finding and surrounding the firm prick which had been pushing against his belly. He worked the boy in time to his own movements, listening to the sound of his swallowing, letting out gasps and moans Dean could not believe were faked.

Clutching onto those shoulders, having those lips parted against his neck over his pulse, Sammie let himself go again. He let himself truly experience the man moving inside him, working his prick, moving his hips to meet each thrust. He held on tightly, his fingers digging into the sweat slick back, his legs once more wrapped around him. He gave an involuntary cry as, shuddering he came in the man's grip, covering both their stomachs.

Dean halted, feeling the contractions around his prick, smiling against the neck, Sammie's pulse rapid under his mouth. He pulled his hand free and once more rose up onto tight arms. He stared down at the sex blown face and dropping his head, worked himself in the still clenching channel until he too groaned out his orgasm, pumping out as he stilled then fell forwards onto the sated body to lie with a convulsion then stillness.

Sammie's legs slid off onto the bed, lifeless as he moved his head to lie his cheek on his hand, licking his lips languidly. With his other hand he ran lazy circles on Dean's spine at the base of his neck just waiting for feeling to come back to his limbs and for the man to move off him.

As Dean came back, he could feel the other's heart beating against his chest and slowly he slid from him eliciting a whimper from the lad. He hoped it was not in pain but the fingers on the nape of his neck continued their pleasurable play so he assumed not. He slowly moved off him, divesting himself of the rubber then flopped onto his back. Sammie pushed his hand under the pillow, this time bringing out tissues and still catching his breath, cleaned his spunk from them both then, he too, with a quick glance at Dean, collapsed down but along Dean's side, head on the crook of the man's shoulder, hand going to that tight stomach.

An arm came around his back holding him then Sammie waited, just listening as the man, seemingly done, slipped into sleep. He waited to be sure then slowly sat up looking at Dean. Looking at all of him. He let his eyes have their will and take it all in, the young man unaware and breathing softly. He place tentative fingertips on a nipple causing it to tighten and he held his breath lest he had awakened him but there was just a slight hitching of breath.

He trailed his fingers gently over the abs, delineating each one, moving down, probing into the navel then onto the line of fairish hair leading down to the spent prick. All the while he was wary of him waking but from the moment he had seen him, he had been wondering if those freckles he liked so much were everywhere. Not quite, as he guessed not all parts saw the sun, but there were plenty enough to keep Sammie enthralled.

He did the thing he had fantasised about. Moving back on the bed, he leant down and licked at a freckle on the exposed hip. It was pale but there and he licked at another on that flat place where leg met body, so smooth, so tantalisingly close to the prick. He licked again, sucking up the skin, his hair falling, tickling the man's belly. He pulled back quickly as, making a grumbling noise, Dean turned onto his side,, facing him then settled down, leg raised giving Sammie a perfect view of his tight buttock and thigh.

Once more glancing at the face, he placed his hand lightly on the swell of buttock, enjoying the tactile contact and, oh so lightly, squeezed. Emboldened, he smoothed his hand over the swell, his fingertips slipping into the divide. He sighed, there was no way the man would ever let him slip in between those cheeks. He ran his fingers up to the base of his spine and...Dean moved, half waking, leaning back, running a hand over his face. He surveyed his surrounding, quickly taking in Sammie sat looking down at him.

What was to happen now? He just waited but Dean sort of grunted, sitting up, grabbing at him then fell back to the bed pulling Sammie down, trapping him to his front with an arm then, relaxing once more, slept. Sammie put his hand to the arm so tightly holding onto him and relaxing back, curled up as Dean shifted, spooning close behind him. After a while he too slept.

==000==

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Still breathing deeply, settling the boy into his side once more, Dean spoke, "I'm going to have to leave soon."

"It's not six-thirty yet. We've got more time," daring to push a hand flat onto Dean's belly, rubbing the line of hair. Having awoken, the man had slipped into him from behind, again, for the second time, rocking inside gently as he surrounded him. It had been slow and wonderful. Sammie did not want this night to finish.

Dean placed his free hand over the boy's, stilling the movement. His other continued to gently tug the locks at the back of his head on the crook of his shoulder. He stared up at the dingy ceiling. "No. Leave town. We move around a lot. It's our … Job."

Sammie had known that this would not last. He closed his eyes briefly and pretended his chest did not suddenly hurt. He had been a 'Grade A' fool. He had let himself feel. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"There's lots of travelling… We don't have a home… It can be dangerous sometimes. Da.. John and me, we live out the back of the Impala. … It gets lonely."

"But you have, John?"

Steel entering his voice, "Oh, yes. There's John. No point doing this without him. But … I think about…him… about leaving …."

Sammie sat up as he had heard Dean's voice thicken with unshed tears then silence. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," yes, he did.

"Then…?" he did not know whether he should dare.

"Then what?" lifting his head, looking at him.

"Then, why are you here with me and not him?"

"What?" not understanding.

"Well. If you love him and you're worried he's going to leave you, why are you fucking me?"

"I don't see the connection," and it was him that would be leaving his father, not the other way around.

"He's your partner and I'm just a whore!" One of them had to remember that.

"You don't have to be a whore!" he cvommented.

Sammie became angry. The man had said that as if it was so damn simple and he had decided to do this at a school career's day. And he was angry because he did not want Dean to leave, to leave him. "What the fuck do you know about it?"

"I know there's other stuff you could do?"

"Yeah?" incredulous.

"Yeah!" getting angry himself now. Sammie was worth so much more than to shake his ass for a load of lowlife losers. Dean included himself in that and that did nothing to improve his mood, especially as Sammie was crawling backwards off the bed.

Quickly as he could, Sammie found his clothes, all the time keeping a watchful eye out. He dressed as he spat out angrily, "You gonna give me a job? I don't know how to do anything 'septin' what happened in that bed," pointing an angry finger. "It's all I'm good for."

"That's not true!" as Dean also rose from the bed but, as Sammie took a hasty step back, he held his place, just grabbing his own jeans up. "There's loads of stuff you'd be good at."

"How the fuck would you know?" so angry because he so wished it was true, "You're just another '_client_' with slug fear!"

"Slug fear? What the hell is 'slug fear'?" half tempted to look down at himself, thinking it a derogatory term for something sexual he had never heard of.

Sammie gave him an eye-roll, "A fear .. of .. slugs!" spoken as if to an imbecile.

"_Slugs_! What the Hell have slugs got to do with anything?" He had been lost at the turn of this conversation since Sammie had first spoken. Now he was clueless. He could not understand how they had gotten from him broaching the subject of a life on the road with him and his father to, slugs.

"You're the one that's put salt everywhere. What the Hell else you tryin' to keep out if it ain't slugs?"

"Oh."

"Oh!" sarcastically.

"You wouldn't understand." He did not want to think about, nevermind mention, all the things that a line of salt could help keep at bay, slugs included.

"No, because all I can do is swallow or spit!" his anger surfacing again. It always came back to that. If you could paint the most beautiful picture in the world, if you cured cancer even, it would be the 'prostitute' artist or the 'former whore'. Once you spread your legs for money nothing would erase it. And Sammie was angry most of all because he knew it.

"It's part of my...job!" Dean wondered how to tell him without making him think he was insane or some dangerous psycho?

"And just what is that? You know what I do!"

"I'm a 'hunter'," he admitted, not wanting to lie.

"So you hunt slugs! So the salts' in case they all gang up on you is it and try and climb in thru the window? Under the door? The best defence is a good offence and all that?" and he stood with his hands on his hips looking so damn angry.

"Will you quit with the damn _slug's_!" and they both stood silent, each with his own thoughts, looking at the other.

'Damn the bastard' cursed Sammie. He had made him so ashamed. It was the way he had seemed so sincere in his belief that he could do more than this. Be better than this. And when the man looked at him with those beautiful but hurt eyes, he could almost believe it too. And now he was stood there, looking so lost, just looking to him to make it all better.

But why? Why was this man so obsessed with him? The way he had looked at him that first time, so long ago, just two days. He could feel it in his touch. Sammie had felt the conflict right from the beginning. This man wanted him but detested that he was a whore. But at least he had not come out with all the, 'I want to save you from this, from yourself crap'. And what would his partner think to all this? Did he know he was being cuckolded by a rent boy?

"Dean?" spoken firmly because he had to know. Had to put an end to this. He could not carry on knowing that this man could leave at any moment. It hurt. He had let himself fall into the trap. He had felt hope.

"Yes?" sounding hopeful.

"You never answered me. Why are you with me when you have a boyfriend in another room of this very hotel?" How could he be here with him? If Sammie had someone like that, he would never go behind his back. He would be faithful because love deserved monogamy and Dean had said he loved John.

"You've lost me again," still wondering how to convince this angel that he could be so much more, would be better off coming with him.

"The man on the desk said you had a room with your boyfriend. You live out of your car with your partner. John. You said you love him." How could he forget him so easily?

Dean relaxed smiling, laughing a little. That was a first, him and his father being mistaken for lovers. "Are you jealous?" a little curious and a lot hopeful.

"Fuck no!" lying to them both.

Dean grinned. He felt so much better. Sammie _was_ a little jealous and that gave him hope and he took a step towards him. He had an impulse to grab him up in his arms and swing him around in pure happiness.

"Don't you fucking laugh at me!" Sammie had had enough of this and quickly snatched up the brown sack from the window ledge and the money from the table, stuffing it inside. He wanted the toiletries from the bathroom but he wanted out of here more.

He moved quickly to the door and was gone, ignoring his name being called out. He was young, trim and fast. The older man had little chance. He was at the stairs before Dean was half way down the corridor, yelling at him to come back but he was gone.

"Please, come back," Dean almost whispered as he came to a halt. He could not chase him in nothing more than jeans. Heading back to the room, scrubbing at his face, he puzzled over what the fuck had he done so wrong.

Sammie ran from the hotel unseen and, rounding the corner, hid in a doorway, peering out, making sure that he was not being followed. As his breathing eased and he knew he was to be alone, he pushed himself backwards into a corner, arms wrapped tight around his waist with the bag clutched in a fist as he shuddered. He wanted to cry. Really cry for himself rather than what had been done to him.

He dragged in a harsh breath and stood up straight. He had vowed never to cry again, over any man, over what any man did to him. And that included the worst thing at all, making him hope, making him care.

Quickly, he headed back 'home', going via his secret place, stashing the extra cash then entered the 'apartment'. It was too much to ask for it to be empty at this time of the day but as Billy sat up rubbing his eyes and looked at him, he moved to the bed.

And Billy knew. He just held his arms up and Sammie threw himself into the embrace.

==000==

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

John awoke instantly the key entered the lock but he laid still thinking it not wise to start an inquisition as soon as his son showed his face. He rolled over and said, "Hey?" as Dean just sort of loitered in the middle of the room. "You Okay?" sitting up, running hands through his hair trying to appear casual but he was burning with more than curiosity. He wanted to know what Dean had been up to these last few days but would not push it. He might want to know the same. Not that he needed to answer to his son.

"Fine," sounding tired and Dean began to strip and headed to the bathroom, closing the door but having already closed himself off from his father once more. John sighed and threw himself back down to the bed.

By the time Dean finally opened the bathroom door, letting out clouds of steam, John was dressed and sat at the table, his stomach making its hunger known.

"Got us a haunting in Minnesota," looking up at Dean. He had had enough of this rundown city. Well, the part he had been stuck in at least.

"No. Don't want to leave just yet," answering quietly from the doorway.

"We've been sat around here for days," and Dean was the one that had wanted to leave. Frowning, considering, he asked finally, being incapable of keeping it in any longer, "Dean, there's something going on I don't know about isn't there?"

"I'm sure there's lots of stuff going on you don't know about," turning his back to him, looking for clean clothes.

"I mean with you! Dean!" through clenched teeth. "Yesterday you asked me to find something!" His offspring seemed to have 'perked up' in the last couple of days and there was defiantly less drinking going on. But he knew his son well and he had the awful suspicion that the only thing that could curb Dean's current dependence, addiction to alcohol, would be by replacing it with something else. He had wondered about gambling as he was always leaving with far more money than he returned with.

"Well," Dean answered, still not looking at his father, "in the last half hour, I've had a shave, shit, shower and shampooed my hair. Is there anything else you would like to know?"

"Enough with the attitude. You forget who you are talking to!" anger fuelling his voice, his patience long since gone.

Dean said nothing. He had not forgotten. But at least the anger was refreshing. He had managed to get a real emotion out of his father at last. He had been trying for what felt like months. He was so fed up with his father's conviction that Dean would just continue to follow him around, never questioning. The sooner he was allowed out on his own the better. He loved his Dad. He always had and never wanted to disappoint him but unbelievably, he was beginning to hate him too. He moved back into the bathroom without a word.

There was no retort so Dean looked around the door, the silence coming from the room deafening. He had to check that his father had not imploded. No, he was just sat there fuming. Dean sagged. He was tired of butting heads with him. It was becoming as if what they had been through was for nothing as they could not spend time in the same room without orders being issued or bickering. "If you must know and, I feel you do, I've been going out to get laid!"

"And it cost you, what last nite, two, three hundred dollars?" looking at Dean, seeing him with fresh eyes as this attitude continued. John was shocked to see that his son was actually a man now. Perhaps he should ease up on him slightly. Start to treat him more as a partner than a son? He ground his teeth. He was still his son and he still deserved respect from him. But most importantly, Dean needed him, needed his protection. No matter how old Dean got, John was not willing to lose another son.

'Damn him and his noticing the details', Dean thought. "I will have you know that some people need more 'wining and dining' than a bottle of beer and bar snacks. And! Some people are worth it!" all this shouted from the bathroom as he did not need his father to see his face. He did not need to see his own face either in the mirror for part of him knew, in different circumstances he would surely have been unable to 'woo' the boy he was already so enamoured with.

John sat there surprised. Of all things, he had not expected his son to be involved with someone. He felt a moment of happiness for him but was realistic. "And how long do you intend to see this high maintenance, 'some person'?"

"Till I stop I suppose." Actually he planned on asking Sammie to leave with him tonight. He would have more than enough trouble trying to explain things to him never mind his father.

But he had to convince Sammy to come with them. Maybe, just maybe they could be a sort of family? But damn it, why did he have to be called Sam?

==000==

"What the fuck is wrong with you today?"

Sammie just dropped his head expecting the inevitable. Hutch was furious, looming over him as he backed up against the wall. But there was no where to go, wall or not. They all found that out soon enough. Hutch had beaten and raped near all the boys on his street to get his point across. The lesson was quickly learnt. Some he liked to remind occasionally. Some more than others. Sammie knew he found any excuse to remind him but today he had cause.

He had been late getting back. He had just lain in Billy's tight, sheltering embrace. The older boy had said nothing, done nothing but hold him as he shuddered. He had felt so cold yet the tears bottled up inside burnt. Then he had gone back out and stood around trying to be as invisible as possible, lagging back, letting the other boys offer themselves to his repeat 'clients' but inevitably his services were called upon. He made little money and no extra as he was so lacklustre and 'off his game'. All he could do was think about Dean.

He had run from him. The man had made him feel so ashamed of himself for the first time since he had gotten into that first car a life time ago. Ashamed as he had felt after that time his uncle had asked him if he 'wanted to play a game'.

No one else would, could, have made him feel like that because no one else had made him feel.

Sammie knew he needed to close himself down once more and let Hutch remind him what life was like. He said nothing, looking at the ground and made no noise as Hutch's massive meaty hand ran into his hair, grabbing tight, pulling his head back. Still he would not look at him, would not fight, the other hand on his upper arm grasping so tightly.

He knew it would make the pimp madder if he did not respond but he did not utter a sound, even as the opened handed slap hit his cheek, forcing his head aside and the roots of his hair screamed as they were pulled from his head under the harsh grip.

Hutch was furious and decide that if the little bitch could not be bothered to make him any money, a couple of days off the street would not make much difference. The whore would shake his ass properly afterwards. He let go of the hair and, dragging the unresisting youth by that arm, he headed for the 'private' room where, with the window wide open, all his boys up and down the street would be able to hear Sammie's screams, hear him beg.

He was going to enjoy this. He always did. But then, Sammie's new 'regular' turned up again, this time walking purposely towards them. This was the bastard that was taking up so much of his 'employee's' time and paying fuck all for it and was somehow responsible for the days desultory performance he was sure.

Holding tight to the slender arm, he sneered out, "If you want him this time, you pay up front and you pay me." Dean just stood glaring at the creep as he pulled Sammie possessively to his side. "It'll cost you four hundred!" The teen would have no chance against him as the man was built like a brick shit house and just as ugly. He looked like he had not had a bath in weeks, the smell of dope hanging around him was like a miasma.

Sammie just stood staring at the dirty pavement. He could not lift his head, he did not want to see the expression on the beautiful freckled face as he must be so disgusted with him, with the way he just stood there so subservient, so submissive to the man that had him held in the crushing grip. There was no way he would pay the exorbitant fee.

But mainly, he did not want Dean to realise just how wrong he had been about him. This is all he was fit for, being sold on a street corner. It was all he had. Hope was the greatest evil of all. The anchient greeks had known that. No wonder it had been in Pandora's box.

Dean wanted to beat the crap out of the creep but if he did, the Pimp would just take it out on the rest of the boys, on Sammy. He had an impulse to kill the Bastard but someone else would just take his place. And no matter how low he was, he was still human, just a bastard and Dean would not sink to that level. He was a 'Hunter' not a murderer, though some would argue the point. Yet he still took a threatening step closer, noticing the man's eyes move from side to side. He stopped and, barely turning his head, registered the two 'heavies' heading towards them.

Dean could not look at Sammie. If he did he knew he still might put this piece of filth on the ground, if not under it. Instead he counted out and pushed the dirty money at the man's chest, enjoying the 'oomph' he let out and realised it was bulk not muscle under the hard man clothes. Turning before the man saw his smirk, he caught hold of Sammie's other arm, pulling him away, his resemblance to the way Hutch dragged him about unnoticed as he wanted away from this place. If Sam was willing, they would never be coming back.

On reaching the car, Sammie just stood looking at him balefully, rubbing his upper arms. "Get in," Dean ordered and was behind the wheel with the engine running before he realised that the boy had not moved. He leant over, opening the passenger door. "Please. Sammy, please get in." A moments more hesitation and the boy was beside him but sitting as far away as he could get. "I'm sorry," Dean told him as he pulled away from the curb.

Dean glanced at the silent youth and his heart lurched. He appeared so small, so young and so ….damaged. "Are you hungry?" but there was no response. Sammie continued to stare out of the window at, Dean surmised, nothing. He carried on driving, taking him to the diner he and his father had been using. There were closer ones and restaurants by the hotel but this had its own parking lot in which he could keep an eye on the Impala.

Getting out, he waited on the teenager who reluctantly climbed out as well then stood, arms at his sides, furtively glancing around from behind his hair. Dean just waited, watching. Another car pulled in. A couple with young children got out and on seeing Sammie and Dean, the woman pulled her children close, quickly heading inside. Sammie's hands came up to cover his upper arms and Dean realised he was ashamed of the fresh bruising already colouring up his skin.

Shirking out of his jacket, Dean moved around the car, coming up behind the stiff young man and gently draped the green coat over the thin shoulders. Without saying a word, Sammie put his arms in the sleeves and wrapped the jacket closed. It engulfed him, making Dean realise once more how delicate he seemed. How fragile. But he knew he was not. He was tough. He had to be or he would not still be standing here. He figured you had to be strong to last on the streets. "Come on. Lets get something to eat," softly as he placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, guiding him inside.

Sammie just let himself be manoeuvred into the diner and into a window seat, aware of Dean sitting across from him facing the door, but still would not look at him. He could not afford to. He did not know exactly what that woman had thought but it would be bad whatever. The little kid had smiled up at him, which was nice but as he had smiled back, the mother had pulled the girl away. That hurt.

He wondered briefly if his sister was okay then shut the thought down. She probably could not even remember him. No doubt his grandmother ripped up the cards he sent for her birthday. She had no problem with girls, just 'ungrateful little boys who brought it all down on their own heads and should not be surprised when being a little bastard came back to bite them in the ass'. It was his fault her son, Sammie's father was in jail. The fact that he had beaten his wife to death while she tried to protect her son was of no significance. _She_ had just been an 'ungrateful bitch'.

Wherever the boy was, Dean thought, he was not sat at this table for the moment so he ordered for them both, smiling up at the waitress. Was she really that motherly or was it just for tips? He waited, watching the teenager, seeing pain briefly flicker then his eyes glistened. Suddenly he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face then looked at Dean hard.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Dean told him and Sammie's eyes turned to flint. The way he had run from the room this morning, Dean had thought the boy would never want to see him again. But Dean had had to come back for him. Had to at least try and if not, he would spend one more night with the kid. A little spark of hope ignited inside of Dean Winchester. His statement had made Sammie angry. He was angry that Dean was leaving. "I wan…"

"Here you go, honey," and the waitress placed two plates of burgers and thick cut fries on the table along with a beer and a cola. "Thanks," Dean replied then grabbed up the bottle of alcohol as Sammie reached for it. "Funny!" he said, only half hiding the grin at the insufferable look Sammie was giving him as he picked up the glass of cola.

Dean settled back, turning the bottle on the table. Even if he had been hungry, he doubted he would have been able to force food past the dryness in his throat. He took a drink, glancing at that so angry, so beautiful visage across from him then back to turning the bottle. "Eat," he suggested.

Sammie did not know what to think. So the bastard was leaving? About time. Now maybe he could just get on with it, sucking cocks and taking them in the ass for the next four or five years. Endless parades of nameless, faceless creeps that would not affect him like this one with the glowing emerald eyes so full of yearning, sadness and worship did. The fry he was eating nearly chocked him at the thought.

"You okay?" concerned, reaching across to, he did not know. He could not reach to belt him on the back.

"Fuckin' awesome!" he replied bitterly, taking a drink.

Dean watched once more. Sammie picked up the tomato sauce and covered the side of his plate then morosely began to eat, picking up his fries one at a time, slavering it the sauce and slowly eating. "What do you want?" so quietly Dean would have missed it if all his concentration was not on the teenager.

"You."

"You've got me. All four hundred bucks worth," begrudgingly amazed that the man spent so much money on him when it was obvious looking at him that he was not wealthy.

Dean took to picking the label off his bottle, watching his fingers. "We move around alot. Its…"

"You already told me," petulant.

"Its dangerous. We go from one town to another hunting … people down. Taking them down. John 'n' me, were hunters. People can get … killed on the job. But it's one that needs doing. We help people."

Dean was not looking at him as he spoke and Sammie just sat, hands in his lap in those too big sleeves, wondering what the hell the man was telling him for. But he guessed that explained a lot. Explained the knife under the pillow he had found last night and the gun hidden well, but not from someone like him. They were Bounty Hunters. But much better looking than that 'Texas Ranger' he remembered from TV when he was a kid.

If it was not for those damn lips and eyes and freckles and muscles and skin and hands and… would Sammie even give a shit? Probably not. Would he still have been drawn to that so soft touch, that yearning in the eyes, if he had been ugly or even ordinary? But Dean was not either of those things so he guessed he would never know.

"I wouldn't let you get hurt. You wouldn't be involved in ...all that. I would keep you safe. … I promise you. But it could be … scary and… it's up to you. I just want to know if…" he glanced at Sammie then back at the denuded bottle, quickly taking a drink then caught the waitresses eye for another.

There was no way he was saying what Sammie thought he was saying, surely? He sat up just a little straighter, studying the man's face, searching for a clue. Had he heard him right? Was he suggesting that he go with him? 'No. Don't be such a damned fool. This man has already cost you money, heartache and pain. It's just more of the same. Life sucks, big time'.

Thinking that someone had finally come along and wanted to take him away from this life was as preposterous as still believing in those Guardian Angels his mother had told him were watching over them. Yeah right! Her's had done a great job! He waited until the other had the new bottle half stripped before he said, "Dean?" and the man glanced up at him seeming so lost, so scared. "What are you saying?" He needed it spoken plainly and out loud. He had to be sure. His heart was thumping in his chest.

"I want you to come with me. To leave this shitty town. Leave your shitty life and come with me. I can't guaranty it'll be that much better for you but you'll never have to go down on your knees or… 'service' anyone you don't want to. You don't have to … with me, if you don't want to. And if you don't like it, you can leave any time you want. I'll take you anywhere you want. I just … don't want to leave you here. I don't want you to have to do … what you do. I…" Dean dared not look at Sammie. He studied his beer, foreseeing his heart breaking if the boy said no.

How had it come to this? Everything that he and his father had been through, that had been done to them, and all he could think of was that if Sammie refused to come with him, he would never be able to breathe again. He would never be able to stop the screaming that even now he could hear gaining in strength as if mocking him, tormenting him because after what he had done, the life he had led, he did not deserve the slightest happiness, the slightest peace, even that found in the arms of a rent boy.

"What about John?"

"What about him?"

"Won't he mind you having a whore along for the ride?"

"It's not up to him," but he was going to have a fight on his hands, "and you never need to 'whore' again."

There was silence and slowly Dean looked up, not raising his head, terrified he would see ridicule and distain. What he saw was a face appearing younger than ever, hopeful, his eyes yellowy-hazel, shining with unshed tears. He had caught his bottom lips in his teeth and was staring at him, seeming not to breath. He let his lip go. "You mean it? It's not some trick?"

Dean shook his head pleading with his eyes that Sammie would believe him and would accept. He did not know what to do, keep him in sight or give him room. "Take the night to think about it. I'll … take you back and if you want to come, I'll pick you up at nine," and puzzled as Sammie deflated.

He was going to go and leave him. It was all a big joke. He was not angry. He did not have the energy. He was done. This bastard should just leave him alone. It was cruel. "You won't come back." He had not meant to say it, it just slipped out and he sat back, arm crossed protectively across his chest.

Dean stood up, throwing money onto the table. "Come on," he said holding a hand out to Sammie and when he looked daggers at him, he decided, "Come on. It's time you met John."

=0=

Back in the car, Sammie sat against the door once more but this time watching Dean. Was this truly happening? He guessed it was if he was being taken to meet the other one. What was he like, he wondered and would he have to do him as well as his lover? There was no way he would let Dean bring him along if he could not have him too, surely? Because if he did go with him, and he knew he wanted to, he would let Dean do whatever he liked to him.

And he wanted him to. If he would be the one from his youthful fantasies. If he would take him away from Hutch and all those sleaze balls, he would do anything. He would keep his money hidden from him just in case and, if it turned bad, he would run for it and start somewhere else. Just as he had done at fourteen. At least he had a 'trade' he could fall back on. He made a decision. No matter what this 'John' was like, he would do him too. He was going, going with Dean.

He turned to watch out of the windscreen, looking forwards.

==000==

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

He just held him so tight, an arm under his belly as he pulled him back onto himself in time to each thrust, wanting to reach deeper, further. The noise of his balls slapping lube slicked skin, the noise of sweat covered bodies hitting, ripping apart. His knuckles white as they held onto the headboard, his hand next to Sammie's, holding equally as tightly, the only things anchoring them to this world.

Dean pushed his face hard against the back of the boy's neck, veiled either side by that silken hair as it fell past his cheeks, his head falling as he had no energy to raise it. Sammie's shoulders were tense, holding on, needing both hands fixed to the headboard as Dean pushed into him so hard, so deeply, almost viciously. Dean's fingers flexed and gripped on his hip, the arm pulling him the only thing keeping the lad up as his knees and thighs trembled.

This was passion. Sammie had yearned for a lover, he had yearned for someone to want fuck _him _and not his body. This was passion. The groans that Dean could not keep inside, the straining grunts hot on the back of his neck, all spoke of consuming passion. The word swam around his head with each thrust, passion, passion, passion. Lust, the spark to this action, the dark flame burning in the green eyes just before he had grasped him, had practically flung him onto his front, had been consumed by the passion.

It was all there in the sound of his name as Dean said it like an 'hosanna', "_Sam_".

=0=

On reaching the hotel 'suite', they had found it empty and a quick phone call had discovered that John had gone off to some museum or other making Dean smile, wondering if it had a bar. Research, beer and whisky. John Winchester's holy trinity. "But you'll be back in the morning? … Right. Then we're leaving this freakin' place. … Yeah. Okay. Yes, Sir," and Dean had turned to him, smiling, "Guess we got the place to ourselves." Then he had stepped forwards to kiss him.

Dean had made love to him. Sammie could not call it anything else and it had been wonderful. He knew he should not hope too much, this could all end so soon but he would make the most of it while he could. It had been slow and gentle with Dean's fingers, then his lips, covering those awful marks on his arms as if he was trying to kiss the pain away and in a way he did.

Sammie had been curious and, after his fingers had pushed and played with the pentagram hanging from the leather thong surrounding the other's neck, his hand had moved down to those scars, his fingers running along the blemished flesh. Then he moved his hand up to the old seeming burn mark on the back of his upper arm that he had noticed before. Dean had stilled, whispering into his ear, "Don't. Please," and not liking to hear the pain in his voice, had ran his hand up further into the short hair.

=0=

Now this. Dean kept hitting that place inside that was sending wave after wave of pleasure, almost too much, through his body. His rhythm faltered and Dean breathed raggedly, "Sammy," as his hand moved to hold onto his prick, "Cum for me," and he pumped him in time to his renewed but gentler thrusting.

He could not keep this up. Dean was so close but wanted to feel that tight clenching around him as the boy came. He said his name again, almost like a prayer, almost an exaltation and Sammie came, convulsing under him, around him and Dean followed, feeling as if his soul was emptying as well as his prick. Together they breathed harshly through the orgasms then, exhausted, Dean pulled out of the so hot body, fumbling to get rid of the rubber, then collapsed down onto his back, an arm still around Sammie, pulling him backwards onto himself.

They both lay there, each breathing, thinking, feeling. Sammie hoped that Dean wanted no more tonight. He felt himself swollen and sore and although this feeling he had of Dean filling him with more than just his prick was wonderful, he had had enough. He did not want to think about the other three men that had been inside him today and he prayed that from now on it would only ever be Dean.

He turned around, pushing himself against Dean's side, head on his chest and, as he felt the older man's fingers in his hair, he raised his leg across onto Dean's thighs and, hand on the man's pounding heart said, "Yes."

There was no answer other than Dean struggling to sit up slightly, catching hold of the sheet and pulling it up to cover them. Then licking his lips, he wrapped Sammie in his arms and they were both soon asleep.

=0=

"Son? You up yet?" John called as he entered the room to stop, frozen in his tracks, as he saw Dean was not alone. Not the first time it had happened but the first time he had been confronted with something other than a naked woman in Dean's bed. The said naked body left off what he was doing and, looking up at the intrusion, quickly crawled, wiping his mouth, behind Dean as he sat up covering himself, horrified.

"The door was open," indicating needlessly over his shoulder while holding up his key, still staring at the boy.

"Dean! Who's that?" Sam's eyes were wide, staring up at John as he clung painfully to Dean's back, almost hiding behind him. Although he guessed he knew. This was the '_daddy_'.

"Well, I could ask the same thing?" responded John sardonically. He had seen Dean in some situations over the years but this was a first. His son, in bed with a teenager almost young enough to be called a kid. A male teenager at that! He prayed the body clutching Dean so hard, making him wince, was legal. "Tell me he's legal. Please!"

"Well… erm he's old enough. I think." But as far as Dean knew, prostitution was still illegal in near all States and they weren't in Nevada.

"Dean?" Sammie whispered loudly into his ear.

"Yes, _Dean_! What do you mean, you think?" folding his arms, settling in because he just knew this was going to get complicated. Until he threw the kid out of course.

"Well," Dean replied sheepishly, looking himself much younger than his twenty years, "Each State's got different ages. It gets really confusing."

"I can see that. 'I'm sorry Judge, it's not statuary rape if you don't know what state you're in!'" fixing him with the patented John Winchester, 'Dean you're such a dumb-ass', look. Dean hated that look. He avoided it at all costs.

Sammie was getting worried. If the man did not like him, he would not let him go with them. He dug his nails in causing Dean to swing around saying, "What the fuck?"

"Yes. Exactly," commented John dryly.

"Who is he? Should I do him now, too?" loudly whispering, never taking his eyes from the fierce man.

"That's John Winchester. My father," a little surprised that Sam had not realised. He had spoken of him enough.

"And you won't be 'doing' anyone," the elder man interrupted, "Get dressed and get out."

Dean stared up defiance at his father, "No. He's staying with me," simple, cold and final.

"Oh…" Sammie said, not quite believing it but if Dean meant it? He let go of Dean's shoulders, not noticing the marks he had left, and relaxed down but still kept a wary eye on John. Did he say father?

"So?" gesturing at Sammie, making the boy flinch, "_Who_ is he?" John was seething and there was no way Dean was keeping him.

Crap! "This is Sam. I was going to introduce you, differently. He coming with us." And Dean did not miss the wince on his father's face.

"Coming with us where?" sounding more amused than angry because, obviously, the kid was not coming with them.

"…Everywhere?"

John pushed a hand through his hair then ran it down his face. "What do you mean, 'everywhere'?" he had an awful sudden instinct that this was not just part of Dean's recent push at the boundaries. If he was not careful and he clamped down too hard, Dean might just snap, split and leave him.

"He's with me," Dean stated again.

"Where did you get him?" but he had an idea.

"I didn't 'get' him anywhere. I met Sammy in town a few days ago," taking hold of the boy's hand lest he think he was talking about him as if he was not there just as John was.

John's eyes narrowed as he looked closely at the teenager. Pointing a backhanded finger at him he asked, "Dean? Is this the 'somebody' that was worth all that money?" His eyes went back and forth between the pair, one not looking at him, the other still staring at him in what looked like fear. The youngster was right to be afraid. "Dean? He's a street hustler isn't he?" hardly believing it as he said it pointing at the boy, "Well, he is _not_ coming with us."

"He damn well is!"

"Dean, if you want a boy to fuck, I'm sure you can find one in near every town we visit."

"Fuck you!" His anger at what John was saying, at his opposition, over riding any respect he still held for the man. He loved him but Dean was sure that he was _in love_ with Sam. He had only just met him but somehow he knew he was supposed to be with him. He felt like he was the piece that had been missing, causing the cold crevice inside of him that he had been filling with the endless parade of women, alcohol and violence.

"I think that job has already been paid for," John's tone so cold that Dean felt the tremor of fear run through his lover who was pressed so close behind him.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, boy! Don't you make me come over there and beat the crap out of you."

"As if you could?"

John took a step forwards and Dean sprang from the bed facing up to his father, "Sam is coming with me whether you do or not!"

He had worried as much, "Why? Why's he so damn special? He's just a whore," glancing at the slim figure huddling on the bed, a look of fearful uncertainty on his blanched face.

"Not anymore," conviction in his voice and on his face as he stood, hands clenching by his naked thighs.

"Once a whore, always a whore." He should know, he had met enough of them, paid or otherwise.

"You fucking _bastard!_ Compared the sluts you sleep with, Sam's a fucking saint!"

"Dean!" taking a step forwards, wanting to beat the crap out of him. He reined his temper in and asked almost steadily, "Why is _he_ so fucking special?"

"Because he stops the screaming!" and that explained it all.

"What screaming?" taken aback.

There was a crash as the hotel room door was kicked open and John swung around starting with, "What the fu…?" and finishing with the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Dean pushed Sam off the bed away from the intrusion then shot up himself, grabbing his jeans and a gun from the nightstand.

John stood his ground. He had taken much harder punches than that and those from his son. But just who the fuck was this ugly bastard backed up by two others, obviously employed muscle? "Where the fuck is he?" demanded the greasy hulk as John rubbed at his jaw, his hand rising ready to give back far better than he got.

Damn! It was Sammy's pimp and with back up. "You!" the man cursed with venom spotting the younger Winchester, "Where is he?"

Dean stood straight hiding the gun behind him. He was not going to shoot the bastard no matter how much he wanted to. A fist fight was another matter.

"Don't know what you're talking about," belligerent, hoping to hell Sam had the sense to stay hidden.

"The fuck you don't. You paid for the night. That was over long ago. An' what about the boyfriend here? He had a go? You didn't pay for that!" sneering at the pair of them. Sammie was so going to get a lesson over this. He motioned to one of the heavies to go look in the bathroom. He got as far as Dean's fist.

The fight was short. No simple street thug was a match for the Winchester's when their blood was up. John felt a sort of satisfaction at simply using his fists, arms and a couple of swift kicks rather than using weapons. But standing, getting his breath back, he wondered if he should rescue the mouthy bastard, as being held up by his jacket, Dean's hand was raised to deliver what could be a killing blow, the third member of the party an unconscious bloodied pile at his feet.

"Pl…Please?" bubbled from the red covered lips as Hutch held onto the hand fisted in his clothes. Dean drew back and the pimp was unconscious on the floor.

Dean stood staring at his father. He did not say, Thankyou. There was no need. John nodded. "Sammy?" Dean called, "Get dressed. We're leaving." And with that the men packed and, collecting the boy, headed out to the car, Sam's eyes wide as he had to be practically lifted over the slowly bleeding figures on the floor.

=0=

Driving swiftly away, Dean called over his shoulder, "Sam. Is there anything you need to get? Cause we ain't coming back."

"Y..Yes," still seeming in shock. Even if he had not agreed to go with Dean there was no way that he could stay in this city now. He gave directions.

==000==

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Waiting in the car, John turned to look at Dean. He opened his mouth but was told, "Not now. Please, Dad," before he even got a word out.

Sam had refused to let them come into the hotel with him as he did not want either, especially Dean, to see where he had been living. This life was to be left behind. He had already collected his stash and now, moving into the deserted room, he collected both his and Billy's meagre belongings.

Back in the car he said quietly, "Dean, we have to go by the strip."

"No."

"Yes. I have to see Billy. I can't go otherwise." It was a gamble. He still did not truly believe it. That he was getting out. But surely he could trust this man not to be taking him to his death if he thought he was special?

"Fine" he answered between gritted teeth then turned to his father, waiting. John just glared but, registering the equally stubborn look on his son's face, switched on the ignition and asked over razor blades, "Which way?"

=0=

The trip out of the city and onto the interstate was strained to say the least. John was having a hard time, now it had all calmed down, to realise that Dean had picked a Rent Boy up off the street and decided to keep him. He looked behind him through the rear-view mirror, disbelief in his eyes. The kid was so young and small and vulnerable seeming. How the hell was Dean going to protect the kid? Keep him safe from all the things they had to contend with? He would get his son killed. He just knew it.

Not to mention, what were they going to do with the other one?

He looked terrified as he sat with one hand on the door handle and one hand clutching at his 'friend' Sammy. Fucking Damnit! Of all the boys Dean could have chosen, why did he have to pick one with the same name as his dead son? And this Billy kid was watching him as if he thought he had been kidnapped by a pair of serial killers. He would have thought that funny if the look of fear in the kid's eyes had not been so genuine.

Billy held on tight to Sammie's hand. What the hell had he gotten them into?

=0=

The argument in the back of this fantastic car had been heated and protracted.

Sammie had come running up to Billy, pulling at him to move, saying they had to go. Something had happened and they had to go. He already had his stuff in the car and they had to leave, now. He had stood there asking, "what?" stupidly, like about a hundred times, then Sammie had told him, "I think he killed Hutch." It was not safe for them now, especially if the pimp was not dead.

As soon as he had gotten in the car beside Sammie, the older of the two men, the one behind the wheel, had pointed a finger at him and commanded, "Get out."

"He's coming with us," stated Sammie, a hint of pleading in his voice.

"No!"

"He can't stay here."

"Yes, he can!"

"But they'll hurt him. Kill him!" sounding close to tears.

"No they won't."

"Yes. They will. They'll sell him to some bastard who'll kill him!"

"Not my problem!"

"Dad!" that was Dean. He did not want him in the car either but Sam had a point. They could not leave Billy now even if Sam would be willing and it looked as if, if he wanted Sam they would have to take the other one too. Although he thought the boy was being overly dramatic.

"He's not," John reiterated, his eyes flashing at Dean. He did not want this Billy in the car. He did not want Dean's new 'boyfriend' coming with them either. '_Boyfriend_'. Fucking Hell!

"I'm not going without him." Sam desperately wanted Dean to let him come. He did not want to leave his friend behind and he was frightened that if he insisted, Dean might leave them both behind. But he had to risk it. If he was abandoned now they would run. They would have to. And quick.

John dropped his head, his fists hitting the steering wheel hard, his teeth clenched. Then looking in the mirror, ready to argue again, he saw the pleading in beautiful hazel eyes and turned to appeal to Dean one last time and saw the same pleading in those beautiful green ones. "Fine!" and looking ahead, pulled off from the curb determined to leave this forsaken city behind.

John had said nothing more. He did not want to be abandoned at the side of the road either.

==000==

"Dean? Can I have a word?" and John left the motel room to lean back against the car, fixing Dean with a, 'this is serious', look.

'Not more bitchin' please', Dean thought. He stood with hands deep in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched and head down.

'Damn right you should look sheepish,' John thought, desperately not smiling at the little boy caught in the act attitude. "Where's my room?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You got a room with two beds."

"So? We always do."

"Dean? There are four of us an that Billy kid is not sleeping with me!"

"Shit! Sorry. Habit," and he grinned.

"What are we going to do with him? He can't stay with us. It's bad enough you... it's going to be difficult enough protecting... Sam, never mind someone else who hasn't got a clue. I think the kid has had to deal with enough without finding out there are more dangers out there than the human kind."

That was what Dean loved about his Dad, well one of the things, he cared about people, even now, when he knew his father was having a real problem with the whole 'rent boy' thing. He was not so keen on the female variety of pro either. It was just a thing with him. Like so many other things. "It's alright. I called Uncle Bobby."

"What?" laughing disbelievingly, "What's Bobby supposed to do with him?"

"He said he'd find a place for him. He should be here by morning."

"And until then?"

"Fine," and Dean headed off to the reception.

=0=

John could not get comfortable. He wondered if he should go sleep in the Impala but there was as little room for his legs in the car as there was in this bed. He stuck one out, to the side, but it was cold. Turning onto his side, Dean moved closer, spooning up behind him. It had been a damned long time since he had had to share a bed with his son, but it was the compromise as he had come back to the room hardly containing the laugh. The motel was booked up. There were no more rooms. He had looked at Dean suspiciously but let it go.

He glanced over at the other bed, seeing the two 'boys' wrapped in each other's arms. He felt a grief thinking of what it could have been like if his family had survived. Family holidays with both his son's bunking down together as he and Mary saved on money, wanting to spend it on other things for the boys than separate beds. Not at this age, obviously, but as they grew.

He began to feel maudlin, thinking that in turn, it was unlikely that his one surviving son would have the chance to marry and get to go on family holidays. Especially, if he decided to 'marry' a fucking rent boy! Sighing, he felt Dean mumble something in his sleep and let himself feel comfort from his remaining son's presence, wondering how much longer he would be able to hold onto him. Relaxing, he leant back, allowing Dean's arm to tighten around his waist, the breath warm on his neck.

They had taken Sammy aside and explained to him why they had to lose Billy, the short version. The version that included all the monsters and other things that go bump in the night still had to come. He had looked miserable but at least Dean knew now that he was not his boyfriend as such, just his only friend and that had made John sad for the lad, both of them, but he had to go.

Billy had looked so damn scared as he sat in the bed, knees drawn up, but also resigned, sending fleeting glances his way, obviously expecting to have to pay for his keep. He himself was resigned to sleeping in a chair, then 'Sammy' solved it all by quietly crawling in beside his friend and, pulling him down, had just wrapped himself and Billy together.

Dean had stood, beer in hand, gazing down, then offered the other bed to John. Grateful, climbing in, he was surprised as Dean joined him laughing, telling him to keep those feet to himself much as he himself had told Dean through ages four to fourteen. He had laughed too, then fought for the covers, something else he remembered.

He knew he did not want 'Sammie' around mainly because he was jealous. He recognised the feeling. The boy had managed to 'sooth' Dean's brow as he could not, no matter how he had tried. But obviously Dean had needed more than words and the occasion fatherly touch. And he guessed that Dean must have a lot 'on his brow' to be soothed the way he had been acting lately. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"What for?" equally low.

He had thought Dean asleep, "For everything."

"Yeah, me too. Sucks yeah?"

"Yeah," laughing softly.

Dean pushed himself up a little and placed a kiss to John's cheek, just like he did when he was a kid and the grief had been biting at John. Settling down, holding his father tight, Dean murmured, "It's not your fault, Dad. It was never your fault."

But no matter how many times Dean had told him that, he still knew, somehow, it was all his fault. He just did not know why.

==000==

"Well, I'm here. Where the hell are you?"

Dean laughed into the phone, "Feeding the family," 'what?' he mouthed as three faces showed him differing opinions as to that. "We'll be there in ten. ...Yep.. can do."

"Bobby?" asked John, pulling out money for the check, frowning at the cost. He thought he could put food away but that was another reason the blond boy had to go. They could not afford to feed him.

"Yep," also getting up and Dean moved to the counter for a take out coffee.

Sammie and Billy looked at each other, grabbing up any left over food they could conveniently carry and followed behind the others, presuming they were supposed to.

As they pulled up to the motel, Bobby was leaning against an old truck, shaking his head as he watched them all pile out. "You've asked me for some crazy things, son, but this takes the cake," holding out his hand for the coffee.

"I know, Sir, but, thanks. You got somewhere?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I got somewhere." Looking around him, he asked, "Which one is it?" wondering which of the two boys had gotten inside the younger Winchester, had gotten through to him were they, he and the boy's father had failed him. He huffed. Dean Winchester was a boy to him, the other two stood there so nervous, trying to work him out, looked like children. "Damn it, Dean. What the Hell you playin' at?" as he looked over at John. The man just shrugged. It was fuck all to do with him.

"I need him," and Dean too shrugged his shoulders, unknowingly imitating his father but looking down. Then he stood upright and looked Bobby straight in the eye. He was not going to be ashamed of Sammy ever again, of the fact that he was young, that he was 'sleeping' with him or that he thought he was falling in love with him, if he had not already.

"Come on then. Lets get this sorted," standing off the truck.

Dean motioned the others over. "Billy meet Bobby. He's gonna take you somewhere where..."

"You fuckin Bastard!" Billy shouted, moving back but crashing into a startled John who grabbed him, more to keep balance than stop him from running. "Get off me! You fuckin sold me din't you?" struggling as John decided it best to hold on to the teen.

Sammie was dragging at Dean's arm. "Please, Dean. Tell me you didn't, you didn't sell him to that man. Please, Dean. Please."

Dean and Bobby just looked helplessly at each other, "What the deuces has gotten into the kid?" Bobby was mystified.

"Fucked if I know," answered Dean as he disentangled Sammie, holding him at arms length. "Hey, shush. Be quie... Shut up!"

"Let _go!_ You fuckin bastards, let go of me!" and there was an 'oomph' from John as Billy stamped on the bridge of his foot then pulling free, kneed him in the balls and was off. Dean went after him. The kid was quick and Dean had to pile on the speed as he was leaving him behind. In desperation, he pulled the gun from the back of his pants and threw it, causing the escapee to stumble, giving him time to trip him and knock him to the ground.

Dean stood breathing hard, looking down. "What the fuck kid?" and dragged him up, then both moved back, looking for the gun. Seeing it, Dean stooped to retrieve it as Billy stood there looking suspiciously at him, certain that he would use it on him if he tried to flee again. Returning to the others, Dean glanced at his father stood bent over double, giving Billy the most evil look he had ever seen on the man's face. He could not blame him really.

Billy just sagged under his hand giving up, giving in. For now. Sammy looked stricken and so thin in Dean's t-shirt. He had to get him some new clothes, he mused. Bobby just drank his coffee, fixing the errant blond with a stern eye. "What is it, boy? What do'u think's happening here?" but Billy just shrank back.

"Dean?" small hesitant. "You didn't sell him did you?" Sam's golden hazel eyes looking so scared.

"What d'you mean? He's not mine to sell. Thought you two had got that. You don't have to sell yourselves anymore," an awful idea forming.

"So, why you giving me to him then?" Billy stood straighter, going for belligerent but Dean could feel the tremors under his hand. He let go but stayed wary in case he bolted again. He had done this for Sammy, because he cared for the older boy. He would have happily let him go his own way, abandoned him by the road somewhere, but for Sam.

Bobby spoke up. "I ain't here for my health. You can run for all I care but Dean here asked me to find you somewhere to go. Somewhere safe. I've got a friend owns a warehouse. He's willin' ta give you a job. Minimum wage but also got a room you can have over his garage. But any drugs or whorin' an you're out. It's up to you. Take it or leave it, kid," and he walked over to laugh good naturedly at John, slapping the recovering man on the back.

Sammie moved also, hugging into Billy's side, gazing at Dean. "You promise?"

"Yeah," he looked at the pair then around them, "Wait here," and he ducked across the road heading for the store.

"Sammie? Do you believe them?" Billy asked hugging the other tightly, it could be so good. A real job, a place to live. A chance at a new life.

Sam could not tell his friend what the men had told him, what he had seen. All the guns, knives and other weapons. He was having a hard enough time himself thinking what was going on. Billy had had it bad and did not need to know that there were real monsters out there that the police had lost track off. Murderers, rapists, serial killers. Far more than the freaks they had had to watch out for. "I do. I think you'll be okay," Dean would keep him safe and he wanted Billy to be safe too.

"And what about you Sammie? Will you be okay?" There was a kiss to his cheek then Sammie pushed his face into his neck and held him tight.

They broke apart as Dean was back saying, "Here," and handed both of them cell phones. And as they sorted out numbers and stuff, he collected Billy's scant possessions and threw them into Bobby's truck. "Billy, take this," and he handed him a knife, making his eyes go wild. "Bobby won't hurt you. You can trust him but I guess you don't trust me, so my words for shit." He grinned trying to put the kid at ease. "You've got Sammy's number now and I'm sure he'll call you later." He hit him on the shoulder with his fist but regretted it at the look he received. There had obviously been no friendly 'slaps' or punches in Billy's world. He hopped that would change now. He moved to speak to Bobby and let them say goodbye. Best warn the gruff old coot about the knife too.

Sammie watched as the truck pulled out and all the way down the road. John announced he needed a beer or four and walked tentatively inside the motel as Dean stood behind the teen, wrapping him in his arms, chin on his shoulder. "Bobby will look after him. I promise."

==000==

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

A/N...and for CAM today, an extra chapter. Cheers!

* * *

Sitting in the latest motel room, John felt awkward but guessed not as much as the boy sat on the bed, sending brief nervous glances his way. He would have felt better if Dean had taken him with him. But someone had to look after the whore...kid, and Dean was much better at cheating at cards and hustling pool than he was and, thanks to Dean, and the boy sat so still over there, they were very low on cash.

John wondered what the kid had done with all the money Dean had spent on him because, when asked, he had only seventy four dollars in his pocket. Apparently he had given all the money he had saved, 'earned', to that Billy kid. But surely this one would have kept some hidden? Not that he had any intention of making the boy hand it over. He assumed he had had to 'work' hard for it.

He found his eyes drawn blatantly to the silent figure, the journal forgotten on the table as he studied him. He could see nothing of the 'glow' that Dean had insisted came from him. But he had to admit the kid was good looking, if a little pretty. Much as himself had been growing up. He had hated it but surmised that the boy had used it to his advantage.

Sammie nervously tucked his hair behind an ear, sending another brief glance at the huge man now staring at him. He was big, even making Dean seem small in comparison and Dean had an inch on Sam, not to mention muscle. John was big, really big. He looked like he worked out but Sam was unsure when or where as they were on the road so much. And now he was looking at him as if he was going to devour him but Sam was used to that.

The look now on John's face he recognised all too well.

John appraised the teenager. Why had Dean turned to this, common street hustler for comfort? Did he not have enough with all the bimbos he picked up? Why a boy? _A boy!_ And why one named for his dead brother? John glanced down. He was about the right age too. Damn it, Dean?

It had been bad enough while he was growing up. He would call out in his sleep for a boy that no longer existed. Then he had an imaginary friend and called him Sammy and said he could see him and talk to him if he closed his eyes and wished real hard.

That had stopped around the age of six when Dean had first learnt of what imaginary friends could do. Especially if they turned out to be real.

He had nearly lost Dean on that hunt. Neither of them had realised just how persuasive and alluring supernatural entities could be.

Is that what this kid was? Another dead brother substitute? He damn well hoped not. Especially as he had no doubts that Dean was fucking him, had been from the moment he saw him, no doubt.

Looking over at him now, the kid was so anxious, his glances more frequent and, John noticed, his breathing becoming shallower. He licked the lips that Dean was always watching and John stood up suddenly, making the kid flinch. He moved to stand in front of the whore, staring down at him, kind of enjoying the look of fear in the pale hazel eyes as they nervously peered up at him.

Sammie had vowed that he, 'would do the other one too', but had not thought he would have to now he was Dean's… boyfriend?...lover?…catamite?...now he was Dean's. But having the huge man stood over him, staring down at him almost angrily, he could see the lust. Closing his eyes briefly, he licked his lips fretfully then lifted hands to the fastening on the man's jeans.

There was a moment, when John put his hand on the side of that face, rubbing his thumb hard along a cheekbone, that he wanted to hurt him. Wanted to make him pay for being able to do what he could not. Not the having sex with Dean, but being able to help him, 'ease' him. The eyes flicked up then away before John had any chance of seeing what the boy was thinking. Well, that was okay. He did not really care. He just wanted the kid to understand that he was only here under his suffrage.

Sammie continued, opening the button and pulling down the zipper as the hand moved to the back of his head, fingers pushing into the long hair as so many had before. He had kept it long as it helped with his saleability but hated that it gave the bastards a method of controlling him, just as he sensed this man would do.

Pulling apart the denim, he let his fingers slip behind the elastic of the black briefs the man wore, much like Dean's, and pulled it out and down releasing the prick, nestled in the dark wiry hair. He did not look up. He did not want to see again the distaste bordering on hatred that that last glimpse had shown him. It had been quick but that was all it took Sam. He had had to learn to react and adapt instantly on such brief warnings. It had made him popular and had to some extent made him safe.

Now he knew this was going to be rough. From the hand harsh on his head, to the thumb rubbing on his face that he could still feel, he was convinced that this was not about sex. This was to be a lesson about power and control. It was not a lesson he needed teaching. He already had a fair idea about the dynamic between father and son. For Sammie, this was just paying the rent.

Before he could even do what he knew how to do, the hand on his head forced his face to push against the man's noticeable prick. He opened his mouth and let his warm breath flow onto the ball sack, just waiting to see what was expected of him. No time at all and the fingers twined into his hair and his head was pulled back and the man's prick was at his lips.

Opening his mouth, he moved forwards slightly to take in the prick which was at good attention, even at his age, but his head was pulled back and he was told, "Look at me."

John gazed into dark hazel eyes as they looked up at him, anxious and wary. He stepped back, pulling on the hair and the lad slid off the bed onto his knees. John's smile was anything but pleasant, "Good," he decided and, still pulling on the hair, brought the mouth to his prick.

Sammie had expected the man to fuck into him but he just stood grasping his hair so he did what he had learnt to do. He worked the shaft quickly, with lips and suction, his right hand coming up to circle and pump the cock in time with his mouth. He was harsh and fast as the man's hips started to sway against him and he wanted him finished before he did indeed fuck his mouth, his throat.

Damn, but the kid knew what he was doing. John did not bother trying to hold off, prevent himself from cumming. He was helpless under the onslaught and was sure he pulled some of the brunette lengths from their roots as he came, spurting into the boy's mouth.

Pulling back, he pushed the boy's face away from him and quickly fastened up his jeans. Looking down at the figure, who was wiping his mouth, he caught the quickly hidden look of distain and laughed, grinning, "Good. But next time...make it last."

Slowly getting to his feet, Sammie wondered if the man would hit him if he spat out the spunk in his mouth, but finished, the figure just turned his back as if he did not exist. He turned to the trashcan by the sink and spat out the fluid knowing it would take much more to get rid of the taste, and the distaste. This was Dean's father after all.

"Here," the man called and he turned to see him holding out two ten dollar bills.

He just stared at the money and spoke with scorn in his voice, "According to your son, I'm not a whore anymore."

Laughing derisively, "Sure, kid. But you and I both know, you'll always be a whore."

"Then its not enough. I charge thirty." And he stood up straighter, refusing to be ashamed in front of this man.

John threw the money at him, actually a little impressed as he just stood there letting it hit him in the chest then fall to the ground, acting as if nothing had happened. "Its not for the blow job. That you owe me for allowing you to stay. The money's for a damn hair cut. Get it cut." And once more he turned his back on him confident that he would be obeyed and that Sammie would not retaliate.

He was right. Sam could, would do nothing that would put him in jeopardy of being separated from Dean. He knew now, even after such a short length of time, that he wanted to stay with him, be with him. He thought that maybe, just a little, he was in love with the man. He was stupid if he was but, whatever he was feeling, he was not ready to be thrown away. If it meant constantly 'servicing' Winchester Senior or a haircut, so be it.

He bent down to pick up the money, hastily pushing it into a pocket as the door opened and Dean Winchester practically burst into the motel room smelling of cigarettes, beer and success. "You look pleased with yourself," John told him and Dean just grinned, pulling a bundle of notes from his jacket pocket, handing it over. John nodded his head in begrudging approval at the near thousand dollars, "Not bad. Not too bad at all." He peeled off a couple of twenties and gave the rest back. "See you in the morning. Don't wait up," he said lightly and then left.

Dean turned to look at Sam who was stood there quietly as if he wondered what he should do. It had only just gone midnight and Dean was pumped up and wanted to celebrate. He threw the money onto the counter and, stripping off his jacket, grabbed up a beer for himself and one for Sam. Moving towards him, he smiled, saying, "Hi."

Sam took the proffered beer but stepped back, quickly opening the bottle and taking a drink. Dean, unperturbed, stepped up close by his side, running an arm around his waist, pulling him close. His body immediately wanted to melt into the embrace but he pulled away before the lips on his throat could reach his mouth. He needed to get cleaned up before he could let him kiss him.

Dean was not about to let him go. He wanted him, he wanted him now but if there was something wrong he needed to know what it was. "Sam? What is it?"

"Nothing." He could not let him find out. He felt dirty and ashamed. It was not his fault, but even if Dean would believe that, he had still just blown his father. "Just…just need to use the bathroom. I'll be back."

Something had happened while Dean had been out at the pool place he had found in town. He could tell. Something had happened between Sammy and his Dad. If the old man had been giving him a hard time he would have something to say about it. He knew just how obstinate the man could be. Still not letting go but easing his grip, he sighed, "What did he say to you?"

"What? No. Nothing," Sam assured him, relief following momentary confusion.

Grinning, Dean swung Sam around to be facing him, his belly pressing against the other. "Did he read you the riot act? Told you you were not good enough for his son?" laughing, just imagining his father as he struggled to deal with this boy, with his son's new lover. His first.

Sam just sagged in his arms and Dean smiled and kissed him. Or tried to. Sam turned his face away and tried again to pull from the embrace. "Hey. What the hell did he say to you?" instantly concerned.

"Nothing. Please, Dean. Let me go," spoken quietly.

"No. Tell me what's wrong." Dean grabbed hold of the side of his face pulling it to face him but Sam would not look at him, not that he could see much through the hair. He wished he would get it cut. His thumb rubbed over the side of his mouth. Sam went still.

Dean looked at him, really looked at him and then not believing what he was beginning to suspect, he leant forwards and sniffed at Sam's mouth. Beer and… no, he was imagining things. He kissed him, hard, forcing his tongue in, tasting him. He had wanted to do that from the moment he had entered the room. He had rushed back here to do just that.

Damn it. Sam tried to push him off but it was too late. Dean knew. He knew what he had done. The man froze still holding him, still with his mouth on his. He could taste it, he knew he could.

Dean let go of the stiff figure, pushing back, pushing away. Not wanting to believe, he put his hand to his mouth wiping his lips. He knew the taste of spunk now. He knew what Sam had been doing, and not long ago either, "How could you?"

Sam stood holding himself, his arms wrapped tight around his waist, shoulders hunched as he waited. Waited for the inevitable. He said nothing. There was nothing he _could_ say.

"He's my father! How the fuck _could_ you?" Dean was close to tears. He was so angry. He was hurt.

"I'm sorry," mumbled quietly. But there had been nothing he could do. He could not have said no. John would have forced him or would have somehow made Dean leave him behind. He knew he would. He knew them both well enough now to know that, if John did not get what he wanted, he would make sure Dean did not either. And he knew already, if it came to a choice, he would not win. Dean would never leave his father. He knew that even if Dean did not.

And he had been so desperate, wanting to keep Dean now he had found him. He would do anything he had to to stay. He was not willing to give up something, someone, that felt so right. The first good thing in his life.

The slap was harsh. Sammie felt saddened more than pained. It was not as if he had never been hit before but he had thought that Dean was not like that. That he would not hurt him like that. His hands and arms came up to protect his head. He did nothing else. He just stood there waiting for the beating.

Dean felt like his whole world was finally breaking apart. He had been on the verge for a while now, getting more and more reckless, not worrying overly much if he survived the next hunt or not, the next bar fight. Fucking near any woman who would open her legs for him and there had been many. And he could not remember even one of their names.

Then he had seen Sammy. Seen something in him, someone to make him care if he lived or died. And he was beautiful and he made him feel worth something, wanted, needed. And even maybe loved a little. He made him want to live, live for him. And now that same someone had his father's spunk in his mouth, was still playing the hustler.

"You fucking whore!" and he hit him again, hard, knocking him to the floor where he towered over the curled unmoving figure. He wanted to hurt him. He felt a rage alien to him. His father had pissed him off often but even he had not managed to make him so angry that he wanted to lash out, to hurt the cause of his pain.

Dean ran. He ran from the room and ran from the pain in his heart. He wanted to find his father and beat the living crap out of him. He got as far as the corner of the motel and collapsed against the wall.

Sinking down onto his haunches, he too covered his head in his arms and cried. Cried for himself and cried for the boy who, he knew now, he loved, but had hurt because he hurt, hurt so much.

And curled on the floor of the dismal room, Sammy cried for the first time since that day so long ago when his uncle had left him confused, frightened and bleeding. He cried for himself and he cried for Dean and he cried for what could have been between them if not for John Winchester.

==000==

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean slowly entered the room through the still open door. Nothing had changed. He had thought he would come back to find him gone and the money too. He would not have blamed him. Not after what he had just done. But the money was still there and so was Sammy. He breathed a sigh of relief then flinched in panic as he saw the figure still curled tightly on the floor, not moving.

"Sam!" and he ran to him crouching down, tentatively placing a hand on a shoulder. The boy just curled up more. "Please, Sam? Are you okay? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had no right to hit you. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

Dean rubbed his hand over Sam's shoulders and back. He was sorry. Especially now as he realised his anger had been directed at the wrong person. He had just let the rage come and lashed out at the nearest person. He should have thought first. It was obvious now he had calmed down. No, that was a lie. He was not calm, he had just managed to get his temper under control, holding it in ready to channel when he needed it. That was a lesson he had learnt a long time ago and had learnt it well.

"I'll kill him for this," he assured the still figure. It was clear who the instigator had been and no one said 'No' to John Winchester. He seldom, if ever had. Sammy would have had no choice, no chance. Of that he was now sure. He had been so fucking stupid.

"No you won't," small, quiet as Sam uncurled slightly, just enough to be able to see Dean from under his arm.

"Yes, I will."

"No, you won't and I wouldn't want you too."

"But he had no right to do this to you."

Sam shifted to sitting against the bed, still curled with his head down. His fingers toyed with the hem of a Jean's leg as he mumbled, "It was nothing."

Dean put his hand to his chin, lifting his face but Sam turned his head away. He did not want Dean to see him like this, his face tearstained and swollen. He could feel his cheek. He had plenty of experience to know it was swollen from where he had hit him. He was tired. So tired. He felt weary and old way past his years.

Twisting to sit against the bed next to the dejected figure, Dean used his left hand to reach and pick up Sam's unresisting right one. He held it between his own, stroking it as he wondered what to say. He knew the boy must have had a shitty life up until this point. He had told him very little and he had not pushed. He had had images of making him laugh, of making him happy. Now look what he had done.

"I'm sorry," he told him again.

=0=

Now, holding the thin frame tight into his side on the bed, Dean gently ran his fingers through the silky hair. He was racked with guilt, still finding it hard to believe that he had actually hit the boy. In anger. Twice!

But it had made him angry, furious and a red haze had seemed to descend over his eyes, the blood pounding around his ears, the thought of Sammy, _his_ Sammy, on his knees, sucking his father's prick.

He should have known. He should have realised immediately that it would not have been by choice. He was no fool when it came to his father. He knew him and no matter their relationship, he did understand. John Winchester could be a bastard, a ruthless bastard and although his reaction to Dean's relationship with the teenager currently in his arms had been surprisingly mild, he should have been aware that there was more to it.

John Winchester could be manipulative and subtle with it. He had lived with it all his life, had seen it put to good use time and again. Dean was not naive enough to believe that his father did not use the same skills on him. It had become steadily clearer this last couple of years. That in itself had been one of the reasons for the tension and friction between them.

Dean was a man now, still young by some standards but he had had to grow up fast. He was no longer some child needing his daddy to know what was best, what was good for him. He had followed him blindly for years. True, the man was an excellent hunter, had needed to be to protect both himself and Dean and attempt to gain vengeance for his dead wife and son.

But so was Dean.

The difference was, Dean did not feel the burning need for revenge, the desire for justice no matter the cost. Dean was tired. He had had enough. He wanted an end to the nomadic life, the endless procession of town after town, motel and bar. He was tired of waking up next to women he could not remember the names of, if that was, he even bothered to stay long enough to fall asleep.

He could not deny that he enjoyed the hunt. Putting down one evil thing after another. But now he knew that that was not enough. His own rage, at this life, at his father, at everything, had been building. He could hear the screams, the cries and wailing every time he sobered up, could see the ravaged faces, the looks of pure hatred every time he closed his eyes.

Until Sam.

Even that very first glimpse of him, stood in a halo of light, had called to him, had somehow managed to quieten the voices inside.

That his father could have done this, spoiled something that was so precious to Dean, hurt. And he in turn lashed out at the wrong person. He had hurt Sammy, something he had vowed never to do. He felt as if there was a knife sticking into the pit of his belly and he had placed it there himself.

"Sammy. I am so sorry," he whispered to the sleeping figure tucked along his side, still playing with the brunette locks on the head resting on the crook of his shoulder.

The boy's long leg moved to lay across his, bending over his thigh and his left hand ran over his chest to envelope him and hold him tighter. "It was nothing."

Dean closed his eyes tight against the pure wrongness of that statement. That Sam should, could dismiss the violence as nothing, as just an everyday, accustomed occurrence. He had to fight to keep the anger from his voice. It was that which had caused his unforgivable actions. "It was not nothing. You don't deserve to be treated like that. By him or by me. I am sorry. I promise, I will never hit you in anger again."

Sam pushed his face into Dean's soft neck, wanting to believe but he knew better. Dean meant what he was saying, he really did but things happened. Feelings changed.

Dean tightened his arms, enfolding the boy tight then just lay staring up at the stained ceiling, listening to him breathe against his skin. He was never going to let him go. Was not going to lose him. He was not quite sure how yet, but he was going to make his father accept him. Sam was with him now. He was part of the family. They were a family, he would make it so. He had to.

==000==

Sammie had never had a day like this.

He was sure to other people this was a commonplace day, an ordinary, possibly boring day, possibly a chore but to Sammie it was one of the best days he had ever had.

He had awoken still held in Dean's arms and as they both slowly awoke, he could not help but feel so happy at a smile on Dean's face as he gazed at him.

Finally they had undressed each other, taking the time to unveil the other, revealing their bodies to each other's eyes, to lips, as if for the very first time. Dean had then loved him, truly made love to him. It was there in the tenderness of the touch, in his gentle lips.

Dozing again, Sam had lazily allowed his fingertips to play in those hairs below Dean's navel that had him constantly entranced. He had laughed as Dean told him to 'quit it' or they would never leave the bed. He had just kissed the finely sculptured abdomen and asked, "Oh? Have you somewhere else you need to be?"

It was Dean's rumbling stomach that had finally forced them up around noon and, after a lengthy shower, they had ended sat opposite each other in the local family run diner.

Sammie had been unsure as to what the response would be but, as their emptied plates were cleared away, he asked quietly, "Dean? Please can I have some money?"

Dean had smiled and asked him, "What do you need money for?" throwing enough of the stuff down for the meal and a generous tip. He just felt that good today.

Sammie had ducked his head. He had that twenty dollars stuffed in his pocket and a little hidden in his bag but it would not go far.

Dean stood up and reached out a hand, inviting him to join him, just as he had that time before. He had no problem giving the lad cash, they were a couple now. He was just genuinely curious.

Sam pulled up the jeans he wore as he stood. "Dean," he answered with a laugh, "I'm wearing your clothes and they don't fit. You burnt mine if you remember?" The dark blond had the decency to blush sheepishly. He had obviously taken great delight in setting a flame to all those tight figure hugging, hustler, boy for sale clothes. He himself had stepped away from the bonfire, managing to hide his unease but he had been touched by the gesture. Even though Dean had left him with nothing, not even underwear. The only things to survive were the blue and white 'all stars' which he had guarded with his life. Billy had bought them for him this Christmas past despite his protests.

So, with a hair cut which Dean kept trying to touch, to run his fingers through, _out in public_, Sam handed him the bags stuffed with clothes from the discount store and, dodging the hand once more, laughing, saw a shop he just had to go into.

Dean stood wondering what had that beautiful face so enraptured. He glanced around but all he could see were more clothes shops, a liquor store and one selling second hand books. Turning back he asked, "What's…?" but Sam was gone and he ran to catch up with youngster as he entered the bookstore.

Now, sat here at the table back in the motel room, Sam studied the book open before him. It was a maths text book, the correct grade for his supposed age but it was a little advanced for him. He was sure that with a little hard study he would soon get it. It was not as if he had anything else to do, stuck in the back of that car. He had only been with the Winchesters for just over a week but he was already at the other side of the country. And the USA was big!

He bit at his lip. Was he always going to be in the back of that car? It did not seem as if Dean even had a home. Just like so much else, he wanted to know but was afraid to ask. It was not that he was frightened of the possible answers, he was just not sure that Dean would want him asking.

He unconsciously worried at his bottom lip. He did not want to live like that. But then again, if it was the only way he could get to live with Dean, he would not complain about it, much.

Dean was motionless, just sat gazing at Sam, the gun he had been cleaning held still in his hand. The teenager had seemed happy today, despite the bruise marring his cheek. He felt a pang of guilt, remorse that he could have damaged something so gentle, so beautiful. It made him feel crass and brutal no matter that Sammy did not appear to hold it against him. That just made it worse.

There was a slight frown marring the smooth forehead and he bit at a lip. The new hairstyle should have made him look his age but now he appeared even younger than his stated age of sixteen. He looked to be the age his brother would have been, not the year older he was. Dean dropped his gaze. Once more he found himself comparing this Sammy to the one he had lost. The one he had killed.

Was that why he was so attracted to him? To the idea of him as his father had said? Had hurled at him in accusation in fact. Maybe, he admitted, that was why he had needed so badly to take him away from that life. He did not want any sixteen year old boy to have to sell his ass on the street. But he was realistic, although he and his dad tried, they could not save everyone.

But as to why he found this boy so attractive he did not know or care. He just did.

Even now, sat here with that curious frown on his face, Dean felt aroused. No one had ever affected him like this before. He just had to stop worrying at it and enjoy. And make sure he never did anything to hurt him again. The new haircut was cute, it suited him making him look what he was now, an ordinary teenager. Dean wanted to touch it again, to run his fingers up through the long bangs, swept to the side and the longer lengths on top which led in steps to be cut short, neatly into the neck. He did not know what it was called nor did he care because it meant that Sam's neck was bare now and he could nuzzle it unimpeded.

He put the gun down, seeing Sam notice and bite the lip afresh. He could resist no longer and reaching over, ran his hand up through those bangs and asked, "What is it? What are you thinking about so hard?" his voice quite and intimate.

Sam ducked his head wondering if he dared. Dean might not like the idea, might be hurt by it. It would mean that Sam could not ride in the back of the car all the time and be available to him.

Dean's hand cupped the side of his face. "What is it?" still speaking softly, "tell me?"

Sam blinked and took a breath then spoke hesitantly, "You said you would take me anywhere I wanted to go."

Pulling his hand back quickly, Dean sat back shocked. He wanted to leave him. Already! He felt a cold pain inside swiftly spreading through his body. But he had promised. "Yes," he replied over the brick lodged in his throat.

Sam wished he had not said anything. He should not have spoken, it was far too soon. He looked down at the book. It was just a dream for someone like him.

"Tell me," Dean said. 'Get it over with' he thought. It would hurt less. He watched as Sam glanced at him then away, then again before looking at him from under that long fringe.

Quietly Sam told him his dream. "I want to go to school." Then sat waiting, staring through the maths book, hands in his lap. He waited for the derision, the refusal.

Dean was dumbstruck. He had not seen that one coming. He tilted his head, gazing at the anxious figure looking so young and vulnerable. He smiled. His mind began working furiously. It would mean they would need to find a house. Settle down in one place for months at a time, much like they had whilst he was in High School. He had missed that. Missed coming home to the same door day after day. Dad was not going to like it but then Dean would, for once, give him no choice. If that was what Sam wanted, he would make it happen.

Grinning, Dean told him, "Guess its time we got you some proper ID if we're going to enrol you?"

Sam took that as a yes and sitting up straight, returned the grin realising he had seldom, if ever, felt this happy before.

==000==

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm serious, Son. You can _not_ take him with you."

"Then we all go."

"No. We've put this off long enough. The boy needs training and you can't do it."

"Why the hell not? You think I'm not good enough? I'm capable off going off on a mission but not of training Sam?"

"It's not that you're not capable, you just can't think with your head when you're around him. You think with your prick and that's gonna get you killed. Both of you!"

"That's not true."

"Really? Remember when you first showed him how to strip down that pistol of yours you love so much? I was there. I'll never be able to forget it even if you do! Or are you telling me it was the gun that got you so excited?"

Dean blushed at the memory, his neck and face swiftly turning red as he shifted his feet and John knew he was finally seeing sense. It had been driving him crazy, not to mention from the room, all the sighs and longing looks. Then Dean had began to ignore his presence, his sensibility and there was the touching, the kissing.

"He'll get you killed, you thinking about him. You go and I'll continue training him. If you insist he's to stay with us," holding up a hand forestalling Dean's words, "then he has to learn to fight, to protect himself and how to watch our backs."

Dean nodded, knowing his father was correct. Sammy had already taken to reading everything they had, proving he would be a great asset. Actually, Dean hoped he could get him to do his research for him. He had tried to teach Sam to fight a couple of times, but each time ended with him pinning the slighter frame to the ground and...

"Son!" seeing the look in Dean's eyes as his head turned to look towards the cabin containing his lover. "That, right there is why you can _not_ take him with you!" poking him in the chest with an angry finger. Dean slumped, bowing to the inevitable.

"It'll take you three days to drive there and back. One, two at the most to get rid of the haunting. By the time you get back, at least the kid will be able to fire a gun without shooting himself." Dean nodded and John relaxed slightly and told him, "And then, Son, you're gonna have to tell him what we really do."

Dreading that conversation, Dean ran a hand through his hair then, looking up at his father, debated whether he should speak his mind, how to phrase his greatest concern. Quietly he said, looking pleadingly at his father, "Sir, please. Don't make him do anything."

==000==

"Again," and he watched with a critical eye as the gun held in Sam's slender hands wavered with the effort of holding it up. "Again," as the lad missed the target tacked to the pine tree. "Again!" his voice firm and controlled. They had been at this for hours and still the boy could not shoot worth shit. He paced behind the tired figure, repeating his order over and over until he registered the clicking of the empty gun.

Sam dropped the pistol to hit against his thigh, his fingers too numb to unfurl and release the warm handle and hot metal. He had tried, tried so hard, but the more he missed the louder John's voice became, the angrier he got. He was already uncomfortable being left alone with the man and the last thing he wanted was to make him any madder than he already was.

"Do you need me to show you again?" John asked with a threat of intention in his voice.

"No, Sir," Sam answered, closing his eyes and taking a breath. He did not need or want the large body pressed up behind him again. Did not want the powerful arms controlling his own, hands wrapped tight, trapping his own against the metal of the gun as John Winchester's stubble covered cheek rasped against his own as they lined up the sights.

He did not trust him.

It was not so much that he feared the man would make him do something, would demand his continued capitulation to the blowjobs or that soon he would want more. Or even, as he had speculated, that the man might 'accidentally' kill him. It was the threat that he would tell Dean. That he would manage to turn his son against him, convince him that Sammie was still 'the whore' that John believed him to be.

Now, even with all that had been going on, all that he had seen, that was his greatest fear. The man had this strange hold on Dean, a loyalty that Sam had never witnessed in anyone before. It was yet one more quality he admired in the younger Winchester but it scared him too. He would never be able to compete with that. Dean had a lifetime of history with the man, all he had with Sammie was sex.

A fresh clip was knocked on his shoulder and Sammie turned his eyes to look at the large man. He was so tired. John just continued to glare at him, the clip of bullets pressed against his shoulder. Slowly he lifted the gun, trying to peel his fingers from around the grip. He was clumsy and, as he took the clip, he fumbled the catch, the empty clip falling to the ground followed by the full one as he failed in sliding it home. Trying to catch it, he only succeeded in dropping the gun.

"Pick it up," John demanded through gritted teeth. What the hell was he going to do? Two days now and this kid was still inept. Dean could not afford to be around someone who was so dependent on him for his safety. This boy may be able to 'sooth Dean's brow', to stoke his ardour but he would always be his weakness if he could not protect himself even, never mind pull his weight.

It was not that John Winchester wanted his son to be unhappy, to be without love and succour, but he did want him alive. There were so many things out there that would kill the unwary. So many things that would be able to read Dean's emotions and use them and this 'Sam' against him. He knew it would be soon as it had happened to him. There had been many a time when the 'hunt' would have been so much easier if he had not been so concerned for his partner's, his son's safety.

He watched, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides, as the kid slowly bent down to retrieve the weapon and ammunition. He hid the smirk as the boy turned slightly to face him more, not showing him his vulnerable back. He was not completely without sense then?

He had a moment again when he contemplated just what this kid's life had been like, then, turning on his heel, John left him too it and walked back to the cabin. He had hardly gotten through the door as he heard the first bullet fire. The kid was tenacious, he had to give him that. Maybe if he could just get his damn aim to improve there would be a chance.

He set to thinking again about how he could convince Dean to get rid of him. His son had been so stubborn lately, had started to ignore his wishes and barely follow his commands without balking. This solo hunt would do the man some good. He had to think of him that way. Dean was no longer his young son blindly following him around, eager to please and gain his father's approval.

John had always been reticent about bestowing his praise, believing that Dean should not be constantly commended for what he had to do. But perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps he had failed somewhere in reading what his son needed, now that he had become a man. But still, he could not understand why it was this skinny kid that had captivated his son's heart and mind.

He just prayed it would not last.

His phone rang and in one of those strange moments of either psychic connectivity or synchronicity, he answered to hear his son's voice. "Hello, Sir. Just checking in."

"Everything going okay? You got to Jorgen's Town yet?" expecting nothing other than a confirmation. He had had plenty enough time to get there and reconnoitre.

"Yes, Sir. This evening. I've tracked down two possible sources for the spirit and I'm going to the graveyard tonite once its dark. Should be finished by morning then I'll head back."

"Good," he commented thinking about his recent thoughts.

"Thankyou, Sir," and John could almost hear his son straighten up at the slight prise.

"So, I'll expect you back the day after?" not ordering this time but speaking to him like an equal. Something he thought he might have to get used to if he was not to drive him away.

"Yes, Sir…erm…Dad? How's Sammy? Is he okay?" there was a barely concealed accusation in the voice.

John sighed, moving towards the refrigerator and looking inside. "The boy's fine," was all he said, getting himself a beer. He popped the cap waiting for Dean to speak. He knew there was to be more, he could almost sense the nervousness coming through the ether.

"Sir, you… you haven't made him do anything have you?"

John was certain Dean would be able to hear the slamming of the fridge door across the phone. He knew what he meant. "I've been trying to get the kid to shoot. To hit the damn target. He's totally useless, Son. But I'll admit this, he won't give up. He's still out there trying," he managed to get out although the words wanted to stick in his throat.

"Dad? Please."

"Damn it, Dean. This is what I was talking about. You need to concentrate on the hunt, not on your damn bum boy!" immediately regretting his outburst, the fact that he had said it aloud.

There was silence at the other end but at least he had not hung up on him. "Look, Dean. I understand. I do. But you must understand. I want you safe. I want you on your game and safe...Son? You listening to me?"

There was more silence then a begrudging, "Yes, Sir. But you understand me. I will not give him up and I will never forgive you if you do anything, anything to hurt him. Do you understand me?" If he did not, the bruise on his jaw that he had given him for that blowjob would be nothing in comparison to what he would do next.

His anger flaring instantly at the tone of his son's voice, John brought it under control. He did not answer his son, instead he said, "I'll expect you back here day after tomorrow at the latest," and hung up on him. He finished the beer and drank another.

Glancing out of the window, still hearing the rapport of fired bullets, he saw it dark and decided to ease up on the kid. Obviously his son was not going to see sense soon. Perhaps the boy, already versed in the 'ways of the world' could be reasoned with? Thinking, he prepared a meal for them both, his hunger making itself known. The boy, seemingly growing before their eyes, would not doubt be starving.

Standing at the back door, John called out, "Get in here," and left it at that. If the kid wanted to stay out there all night, he would not be losing sleep over it.

Sam let the gun drop. Carefully, he made sure the gun's safety was on and that it was okay to put away. He hated the damn thing. Not just this one, but all of them. He hated that they were such a big part of Dean's life, of his now.

Sighing, he slowly headed towards the lights of the cabin. To him it was anything but. The place was huge and well furnished. He had never stayed anywhere so expensive for more than a few hours. Apparently it belonged to someone the Winchesters had helped in the past and had willingly agreed to let them 'hole up there' for a while. Sam did not want to stay here.

What he really wanted, now Dean had promised him a better life, had told him he would take him anywhere he wanted to go, was to go to school. He had mentioned it just that once and he had been hopeful as Dean had agreed. But then they came here.

He entered the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him and stood unsure what he was supposed to do. John was actually stirring something on the stove. His eyes moved along the counter seeing the opened tin cans and empty beer bottles.

"Sit," he was ordered and he slid onto the chair at the side of the large oak table, carefully placing the gun to his left. A bowl of what he assumed was stew was placed before him with a spoon sticking out. If he had felt safe, he would have smiled, thinking he could see where Dean had gotten his culinary skills from.

"Thankyou," not looking at the man. He tried to pick up the spoon but found his hand stiff and painful. It slipped from his hand and he could not hide the wince.

"What's wrong?" John asked sitting around the corner of the table from him.

He looked up surprised. There was actual concern in the voice. "Nothing," he murmured and grabbed the spoon more securely. He knew he was being watched.

"Right!" and John grabbed the kid's hand, pulling the spoon from the grip, nodding at the gasp he could not contain. Slowly he took the slender wrist in his hands and began a firm but careful massage of the joint then moved to the palm and the fingers. These hands, unused to handling a gun, had been firing one for hours. He could tell the kid was in pain and he was as gentle as he could be but massaged the cramping fingers.

The boy just sat there watching him from under the new fringe. "What will it take for you to leave? For you to walk out of our lives?" not looking at his face but concentrating at the soft skin on the back of the boy's hand. There was no answer so he looked up into eyes burning holes into him. "Come on, we both know you have a price. What is it? One thousand, two, five?"

Sammie tried to pull his hand away but the man would not release him. He continued to massage it and he had to admit it felt so much better but he did not know what to do. So he said nothing, looking at the man's face, trying to understand him, wanting to know just why he hated him so much. He had done nothing to him, nothing to make him feel like this. All he had done was fall in love with the man's son, want to be with him. Was that enough for the man's hatred? His anger and vitriol? Why would he be so against his son finding a little happiness?

He knew, of course, Sammie knew. Dean had fallen in love with him, with a whore.

He sat up a little straighter at the realisation. That was it. Dean had not just picked up a rent boy and decided to keep him, as this man had stated. No, Dean had fallen in love with him. He knew it. Inside he suddenly had a feeling so wonderful he did not think he could contain it. Now, somehow, he just had to get this man to realise it too. To come to terms with it and leave him, them alone. But he had no idea how to do that.

Should he say nothing or tell the man just what he thought of him? Tell him that no matter what he said to him, offered him or did to him, he would never walk away from Dean. Sammie had vowed that night that he would do anything and everything he had to stay with him.

The much older man was bending his fingers back, stretching the tendons then releasing them to continue the massage. Still unsure, but pretty certain it would piss the man off, Sam used his free hand to pick up the spoon and began to eat as if he had not just been offered more money than he had ever seen in his life. But some things were worth more. Some things did not have a dollar price.

John saw the intended slight and continued to massage the hand, moving up the wrist and along the forearm. He took the time to think. He got distracted by realising the kid actually had muscles on his upper arms, his biceps and triceps showing burgeoning strength.

They had been on the road for nearly a month before landing here as he decided it was time to get the kid some skills. Other than those from he heard coming through the thin walls of the various motels they had been stopping at. He had been getting Sa...the kid, to do most of the carrying, the lugging around of their gear, the laundry, the shopping, all the mundane things that were annoying chores to himself and Dean. In return he had fed the kid's almost endless appetite for food whilst Dean gave him, nightly, daily, workouts in the sack.

He had blown his top and finally put his foot down when he had found them blowing each other off in the back of his beloved Impala. It had gotten 'worse', they had gotten worse once they had had the results back from the clinic. And now the course of antibiotics was finished, there was nothing the two had not indulged in. It made John sick.

The massage on Sam's arm suddenly became less therapeutic and more of a caress. A tough, harsh caress but a caress nevertheless. Sammie slowly took another spoonful of stew and chewed steadily as he studied the man. He appeared to be lost in thought, his dark, glazed our eyes staring straight through him. He got the impression that John was not only in a different place but in a different time also.

In the present, time was standing still, apart from the calloused fingers pressing and feeling his arm and the slow consumption of food he could no longer taste. Something was about to happen here but Sammie did not know what. There were obviously serious thoughts running through the man's mind, he could tell that much.

John's eyes snapped back into focus as he became aware of his surroundings again and the arm in his hands that he was suddenly grasping tightly. Sam had pushed away the empty bowl, the sound of the spoon clanking against china being the impetus to bring him back. He let go of the arm as if it scolded him, seeing the flesh white then reddening as blood rushed to the surface. He glanced up and registered the placid, studiously unconcerned visage of the kid. Oh, he was good but he saw the tension.

Reaching across, he lifted the other hand and began massaging again, bending the fingers back, pulling, stretching them. The hazel eyes were watching him intently but he ignored them, not caring overly much to know what the boy was thinking, as long as he was nervous or downright afraid of him.

"Who are you?" he asked slowly and deliberately, emphasising each word.

There was a hint of derision, barely concealed, as he was answered, "You know what I am. You've made that plain enough."

He nodded. Yes, they both knew but, "I asked you who, not what?" and his hands began to move along the forearm as he held in his temper not wanting the stated whore to know just how much he continued to rile him. There was something about the youngster, and not just his presence, that got under his skin, just managed to rub him up the wrong way. He did not wonder at it too much. He just wanted him gone

Sammie continued to study the stubble covered countenance. Did the man really give a shit? But then he guessed, if the situation was reversed, he would want to know all there was to know about some stranger that was suddenly a fixture in his life. He himself knew all he needed to know at this point, Dean wanted him.

He dropped his gaze, hiding his eyes as once more he prayed that that was so, that Dean was not toying with him. That this whole thing was not just some infatuation and that the younger Winchester would tire of him soon.

The silence continued and, although his arms felt so much better, he wanted the man to stop touching him. "Sammie," he finally answered.

"Your full name," venom and frustration slipping into the voice.

"Sammie Morgan," he gave the man that much.

"That the truth?" and John glanced up, "didn't think so." He pummelled the arm, concentrating on not striking out at the kid for his insolence. He saw the wince and the bite to the lip but still the kid did not pull away or make a complaint.

But then, John thought, he _was_ just a kid and reasoned again that he had probably had a shitty life. The realisation did nothing to soften his heart or make him want to make the kid's life one of milk and cookies. They all had had shitty lives, but it did make the reluctance to tell him anything personal understandable. He decided on a slightly different tack and eased up the pressure, soothing along the hurt on the boy's arm, "So tell me. Why did you choose the name?" spoken as if it was the obvious thing to have done. But why the fuck did it have to be _that _name?

Sammie gave a shrug, proving that there was still plenty of teenager left in him. He could not really see the harm and if sharing the information helped his position here, why not? "Saw it in an old movie," he admitted.

"Oh? Which one?" he was prompted. The man actually sounded interested but he was not naïve enough to be fooled by it.

"Dunno. Some old black and white thing about a black statue of a bird everyone wanted and Dames, see?" slipping into the heroes mode of speech. He had honestly loved that movie. The gangsters who got what they deserved. The detective so hard and strong, never afraid.

He had wanted to be like him, to be strong and stand up to his father. To protect his mom and little sister but he could not. Sam Spade had been a grown man with street smarts and a gun. He had been an eight year old boy. Still, as he had left, he had taken the name to remind himself to be strong and that the bad guys got what they deserved in the end. If only that was true. He knew better now.

But still he liked the name and it just felt, right.

"And why Morgan? That wasn't the Private Dick's name," proving he knew which film he was talking about. There had been a time when John had quite happily sat on the couch, beer in hand, with an old forties film noir on the TV. That had been in another life.

Sammie shrugged again, that was a perverseness on his part. For as long as he could remember, his grandmother had had a bottle of the Captain's rum close at hand. Ginny and he might have gone to school hungry but there was always money enough for a bottle of rum. He had left, run away in the early hours of the morning unable to stay and take the abuse any longer. He had left to try for a new and better life but he never wanted to forget, would never be able to forget.

Or to forgive.

Not now, when he had come to realise that it was not his fault. Billy had helped him to come to terms with that. But sometimes he was still not too sure about it. It was the continual beatings that had driven Billy from home. He hoped he was okay, he missed him so much.

The kid tried finally to pull his arm away and John wondered if just maybe the surname was real as it was definitely a nerve he had touched then and not painful flesh.

"So? I'll ask you again! What is it going to take to get you out of our lives?"

Sammie froze. He felt not only the ice up his spine but suddenly he was scared too. He knew the man did not want him around but it was something in the casualness of the man's voice on the almost throwaway question that had him worried.

John finally let him go and sat back, "What?" he gestured with a careless hand, "I've already offered you five thousand? What will it take? Ten? How much money to get you to go away and never come near my son again?" The boy did not move. He did not even appear to be breathing. Hopefully he was thinking it over.

There was no way Sammie would ever willingly leave Dean. Not for money, not for anything. He loved the man. He knew without a doubt now that he was indeed in love with him. His infatuation with the freckles, muscles and that mouth had been overshadowed and replaced by the overwhelming conviction that he was somehow meant to be at Dean's side. That he would be pointless without him. And if that was not love, then he did not know what the word stood for.

"How about I set you up somewhere, like that Billy kid? You could go and live with him even." It would be tricky, not an ideal choice as he would have to ensure that Dean never found out. He just wanted this over with and the kid gone. If he could not pay him off, get him to just leave, there were other options.

"This life is dangerous," he said pretending to pick at something on the table top, his eyes concentrating on his fingers. He said nothing more until he glanced up and saw that the whore knew exactly what he was hinting at. He let enough time pass to ensure that there was no misunderstanding or that he was in any way quantifying the statement. "In this... job, we need to be prepared. Need to be constantly on our game. We cannot afford distractions. No diversions. Know this, I will do everything within my power to ensure my son survives. That my son does not get hurt." He had the boy's complete attention for once, the wide golden hazel eyes were staring straight into his. "I am not willing to lose another son. And that includes to a... to you!"

They sat in silence, the only noise being the occasional rumble from the refrigerator. Sam was at a loss as to what to do. Should he try to make the man understand? Tell him how much he needed, loved his son? No, the bastard would not give a shit what Sam wanted, felt.

Should he plead, Dean's case? That Dean had confessed to him that he had felt so tired, so miserable? That until he had seen Sammie he had not cared if he got hurt or even killed? That this man's son loved him, wanted him, that he needed him?

It had taken Sammie longer to realise that Dean loved him too. Until he was sat at this table in fact. But he also knew that Dean needed and loved his father too!

He could tell the man he would do better and that he would try harder. Tell him that he would learn to shoot the gun, he would learn to fight and be a valid and useful part of their lives. He was smart, clever, he could do the research, the background work on the fugitives. He could help.

Instead, he spoke slowly, emphasizing his words, ensuring there would be no misinterpreting his meaning either, "I am in Dean's life. I will not leave until the day he does not want me around." Then Sammie turned his head and looked away, but stood, sat, his ground. He would not be the first to get up and leave the table.

"Then you damn well better learn. Learn to pull your weight. To watch his back and not need him to be constantly watching yours." John stood up slowly and moved to stand behind the still, lean frame. He placed his hands on the surprisingly broad shoulders and began once more to massage thinking he still had more options which he could explore. Surely one would rid him of this annoyance?

Sammie said nothing and did not move other than his head swaying gently to the rhythm of the harsh hands. Billy had always said he was too stubborn for its own good.

Moving his hands, John surrounded the fragile seeming neck, pushing at the chin with his thumbs until the brunette head was laying back, the eyes staring up at him. John began to squeeze. Again he found begrudging approval as a kid did not panic or freak out as he slowly turned red. But it was there, in his eyes. The knowledge that John Winchester would as soon see him dead as in his life.

A final tightening and then he released the boy to fall against the table gasping. There was more than one way to deal with him.

John moved to the refrigerator and got out another beer. Leaning back against the counter, he drank, watching as the other regained his breath and composure. When at last the boy sat straight and looked up at him, his eyes burning enough to give him pause, John instructed, "twenty minutes. Get showered then get in my bed," and continued to drink, expecting to be obeyed.

Praying that the fucker would not see the tremors in his legs, Sammie rose from the table and turned to walk calmly to the stairs and left the room.

John finished the bottle and placed it carefully on the counter, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "Fuck!" he said under his breath, closing his eyes. He had thought that the money would work.

==000==

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

**Warning….** Contains sexual abuse.

* * *

Hanging over the bowl, Sam retched again. Kneeling on the cold tiled floor, vomiting into the toilet, he refused to admit that the tears staining his cheeks were just that. His eyes were watering with each heave, that was all. He was not crying, not over John fucking Winchester. Over what he had just done to him.

He sank back onto his heels, wiping his mouth with a towel. Why did the man hate him so much? He still could not understand the man's utter dislike of him.

=0=

Sitting on the man's bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, waiting, he had thought that the man was finally going to take him, to claim his due, blow jobs no longer being enough. He could deal with that. He was just another trick, just another prick after all, but it had not been like that.

As soon as the man had burst into the room, he had seen it again, the hatred, the rage the man held against him. The contempt he held for him. It was far from the first time he had experienced it, some man's disgust at a whore while simultaneously fucking him, fucking him as if he deserved it, deserved the punishment. But he had held the hope that now Dean had claimed him, he would never have to see it again.

He had lain back, stretching out with his arms over his head, right knee bent slightly, letting John know that he was submitting to him, that there was nothing he could do to him that he was not prepared for. Nothing that had not been done to him before. He had survived all of that, he would survive this.

John had stared at him as he stripped off his jacket and shirt as if they were covered in acid then strode purposefully forwards. Sam had not been prepared for the hand reaching out and grabbing his hair then dragging him from the bed onto the floor.

He could not hold in the cry of pain as his hands held on to the man's wrist as he struggled to follow across the bed but not in time to prevent the hairs from being pulled from his head, screaming as they were ripped from his scalp.

Then he had found himself splayed, pushed back against the side of the bed and that none too small cock was forced into his mouth, straight down into his throat. He choked, tears springing to his eyes then streaming down his cheeks. The man had an iron grip on his hair, the other hand was on his jaw, fingers in his mouth forcing it open then preventing his teeth from closing together.

But Sammie had learnt a long time ago the consequences of even attempting to close his jaw, his teeth on a man's prick, never mind a furious man's. Again he knew that this was not about sex. It was another lesson in command and control.

John pulled his, admittedly excited, prick out, allowing the little shit to get his breath back. Then, holding on to each side of the head, he pushed in again, taking his time as he felt the throat open to take him in. More than the heat on his skin, more than the constriction on the crown as he pushed it into the swallowing, convulsing throat, John enjoyed the sight of the tears covering the cheeks and the shining, almost, but not quite, despairing eyes. He had never realised before that he could be so cruel. That he would enjoy it.

Sammie could barely breathe. Not only was the cock gagging his throat but the man's pubic hair was almost suffocating him. Thick, dark and wiry, it scratched at his lips, tickled his cheeks and eyes and almost stopped up his nose. The man was never unclean, but he had noticed before that he gave little or no thought to grooming. Now, as he pulled out from his throat, from his mouth briefly, those long hairs were slick with spittle and pre-cum. Sam was nauseated and could feel his belly and the pit of his stomach threatened to rebel.

Again the prick was forced deep into his throat and held there, thumbs pressing against the distended skin on his neck. His hands were up holding on to the man's legs, clutching at his strong thighs through the denim, his only indication that he was begging for this to be over.

Every time the prick was pulled from him, he dragged in breath, so sickened by the spittle as it fell from the thing to land on his chin, on his chest and he was helpless to prevent it. He could not swallow it all, the action itself was making his mouth water, producing saliva, making it so much worse.

John had pushed in as far as it could, holding the face tight against his slicked hair, his ball sack making it possible for him to breathe, suffocating against his groin. The boy finally showed signs of panic and John came hard, deep inside the tight cocoon of the gagging throat. Still he had held the head tight, fucking through his orgasm as the fingers desperately dug into his thighs, the whore's whole body swaying, trying to get away.

One final thrust, just because he could, and John withdrew letting go of the head and looked down. He was truly disgusted at the sight, at the mess that followed as purple faced, the slut choked out the cum and spittle, coughing desperately. He used fingers and thumb in a circle to strip the spunk and spit from his twitching prick then shook his hand, letting the discard hit the boy in the face.

Stepping backwards, wanting nothing more than to shower, he spat out, "You're nothing but a filthy fucking whore. That's all you'll ever be. Get out of my sight!"

No pretence this time, Sammie had scrambled to his feet and fled, barely making it into the bathroom of Dean's room, falling to his knees before he began retching into the gleaming porcelain.

=0=

Now, sitting back, he just stared at nothing with one thought running over and over through his mind, 'Dean, please come back.'

Once he was sure he had nothing in the stomach left to lose, he cleaned up the toilet and stepped into the shower for the second time within an hour, letting the water wash away the evidence of Winchester Senior's dominance over him. Leaning his head back and opening his mouth, he wanted the water to fill him, to somehow wash and clean him inside and out, down to his very soul if that was at all possible. But he knew that that would take far more than water.

It was not so much what had been done to him, not so much what he had done with all those men that made he feel that he had soiled his soul, that it had made him an unclean and disgusting thing. No. It was the thoughts that he had, the hate that he held in his heart, all of which was at this moment aimed at those men who claimed to be fathers.

Fathers. The ones that were supposed to protect you, love you, be proud of you. For family that was meant to cradle you. Comfort and swaddled you. But he held thoughts of other things for fathers, both his own and Dean's. And it scared him. It scared him that he could feel such things, that he harboured such darkness.

It was a momentary thought but he wondered if he would be able to convince Dean that it had been an accident. That he had been having trouble with the gun as it jammed. That he had not meant to shoot his father. But then he saw what he knew would be the pain on the beautiful face. He would never be able to cause Dean such grief. No matter what the bastard did to him.

It was a long time before he left the powerful stream of water and, moving into the bedroom, he picked up the cell phone and saw all missed calls. He sat on the bed cradling the phone and looking up, he quickly moved to lock the door, just in case, then huddled on the edge of the bed once more.

Dean had obviously given up calling and had left him a voicemail. He listened to it over and over. It was short and simple but it was Dean's voice, "Sammy? You okay?" a pause, "Please be okay. Don't call me. I'll call again once it's done... I...I love you, Sam." The last so quite but Sammie believed it.

There was such concern in his voice. Did he somehow know, did he suspect that he was not safe from his father? He closed his eyes, leaning forwards. 'Please don't let him know.' He would never lie to Dean but he would do everything he could not to have him know he was still a whore, paying for John Winchester to let him stay.

But he so wanted to talk to him, to beg him to take him away, to leave this life that was so dangerous. It was a hopeless thought. Not only would he never tell Dean, and he desperately hoped that John would not say anything either, but he knew that Dean would not leave his father. He knew from the way he deferred to him, followed his commands and demands in everything but for one thing, his 'Sammy'. It was the only thing he disagreed with the man about. He would not abandon him. Maybe he would one day, but not yet.

He had been with the Winchesters for just under three weeks now, if he counted the days since the first time he had seen that black ugly car. He laughed at the thought. The back seat of that car was becoming his home.

After three days of staring out of the window, he had decided watching the passing, ever changing scenery gave him too much time to think. That was when he had started to read. To read anything he could get his hands on. Every time they stopped, even in remote gas stations, he would return to the car with an armful of books and magazines. Dean had commented this week about the sheer weight dragging the rear of the car down. Sammie had laughed and handed the latest stack to him.

He wanted him back, wanted him here with him now. Biting his lip, he stood making sure that the phone was charged and within easy reach on the bed and, glancing around as if scared someone was watching, moved to Dean's duffel bag.

He had only taken the bare minimum with him, assuring Sammie that he would be back as soon as he could. Sammie knew he should not go in there, knowing he would hate it if someone went into his bag, the only privacy he had, but he was hoping there was a t-shirt or shirt that still needed washing that would have Dean's scent on it.

He would put it on and curl up in the bed that was so big without his lover.

Kneeling on the floor, he pulled the bag close and slid the zip open, the noise being loud in his ears. He smiled to himself as he saw the jumbled mess inside. That was the man and all over, the only things he kept neatly where his guns and knives, all of which he had taken with him. Clean and dirty clothes were packed together and Sam pulled out a faded navy blue t-shirt and held it to his face. Clean. Another, pale grey, also clean.

He had an unnoticed smile on his lips as he thought of Dean sorting his laundry. That was how he did it, smelt to see if it was clean or not. Realizing it was only a few days since he had sat on the hard bench watching the combined laundry of three men swirl around the Laundromat washer, he tried to think what the man had been wearing. Failing, he just took everything out, sniffing at each until he stopped with a checked shirt pressed to his nose.

There, there was the smell he needed. Dean's personal scent combined with, and made up of, leather, sweat and something Sammie suspected was chilli sauce. He threw the shirt on the bed and began to push the discarded clothing back inside the bag. Dean would never even realise he had even been in there.

Opening the bag wide, he noticed something unusual stuck right in the bottom corner, rolled tight. Looking around once again, he hesitantly caught hold of the blue bundle and pulled it clear form the duffel.

Rubbing at his temple, he unrolled what appeared to be a small blanket. It was old and worn, the white colour dirtied and stained, with a blue stitched edging . There was a rabbit on one corner. Again Sammie rubbed at his temple and over his right eye. He ran the palm of his left hand over the soft fabric as he lay it across his knees. It must be a keepsake from Dean's childhood be thought. But somehow that did not seem right, it would be out of character.

Dean held few possessions, other than the weapons which still made Sam nervous, and the man's whole estate was in this bag. Damn! He was getting a headache. Not surprising really after losing everything he had eaten.

The fabric was definitely old and appeared to be a baby's blanket. Crap! He tried to roll it up quickly. It had to have belonged to Dean's brother. The one that had died along with his mother. Sammie did not know how, Dean had been reluctant to talk about it. Aow! Damn that hurt. Owh! Fuck! He grabbed at his head, the slight pain had become an intense searing agony.

Smoke, he could smell smoke. Panic and he feared briefly that he was having a stroke but then images appeared inside his head. He fell onto his side, grabbing at his head once more. A shrivelling burning pain flashed around his skull as noise assaulted his ears.

Fire. The room was on fire. Sammie sobbed out, he had always been afraid of fire. A woman, he saw a woman. He did not understand. She was above him and she looked down at him with such love, such sorrow.

Shouting, flames, blood, eyes burning yellow. Blonde hair, burning, then he was being lifted. Flashing lights, heat and Sammie passed out at the pain in his head, at this onslaught of confusing images as his mind sought refuge in oblivion.

It was the high pitched trilling of the mobile phone that dragged him back to consciousness. He lay blinking, wondering what the hell had happened to have him find himself curled up on the floor surrounded by Dean's clothes.

Pushing himself up, he wiped his face and was shocked as his hand came away bloody. Struggling to his feet, he walked unsteadily into the bathroom. His reflection was pale, making the smeared line of red from his nose all the more shocking. Washing his face and drinking cool water, soothing to his sore throat, he returned to the room purposefully ignoring the silent phone.

He packed away Dean's clothes, his hands hesitant to touch the blanket. Then wrapping himself in the shirt, he picked up the phone and climbed into bed. Curling up, he looked through blurry eyes at the missed call.

He dialled and the whole world was immediately a better place as he heard the relief in Dean's voice as he said simply, "Sammy."

==000==

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning**...you know it by now!

* * *

He was nearly as tall as the man facing him now but he had no where near as much bulk. Sammie told himself that he was going to be okay. This was to be a fight 'practice'. John was not going to beat him up, he was pretty certain of that. Dean was due tomorrow and the bruises would show. He was even now travelling back.

He had called him from a diner this morning. If he did not stop he could be back with Sammie in the early hours of the morning. Desperately he wanted that but he had told him not to take any chances. If he needed to sleep he should stop.

He stood now with his feet planted firmly apart, out here at the rear of the cabin. They were on a lawn overlooked by the back veranda. It was a beautiful place. There were flowering bushes and an actual garden. He had never stayed anywhere with a garden before. The lawn they were standing on was neat, well tended and trimmed but Sammie had a foreboding that it would still be hard if, when, he hit it.

Being a warm day, John stood facing him wearing nothing but his t-shirt and jeans. It showed to advantage the muscles of his arms and the strength they held. Sammie felt small and vulnerable. There were no illusions in his mind. He did not know how to fight. What he knew was how to hide, to escape and get away as fast and as far as he could or, if that was not an option, to curl up and protect himself the best he could and then, take it.

"So? What are you waiting for? Show me what you got." Then John stood there waiting for the boy to do something.

Sammie was unsure exactly what the thing he was supposed to do was. He took a step forwards, summoning up the will and, making a fist, tried to punch John. He thought that was what he was supposed to do.

He had been correct. The lawn hurt when he landed on it. As he had tried to strike, the man he had just stepped to the side and, using a hand to his chest, easily knocked Sammie to the ground. He sat looking up at him.

"Is that it? That's pathetic." John did not move to help the kid stand but looked down at him in distain. "Stand up." So, he would have to start with the basics. It was hard to believe that any sixteen year old boy did not have some experience at fighting. As the boy stood, he threw a faint at him. He just stood there and covered his head with his arms, curling in on himself. "Now you're just asking to be hit."

Not asking, but expecting it. Sammie slowly looked from under his arms and, dropping them to his sides, took a step back at the look on the man's face. He went to hit him again and Sammie danced back away from the fist. Again the man tried to hit him and he dodged to the side.

John stood and nodded his head slowly. Better. At least he could avoid a punch if he could not deliver one. "Stand your ground and try that," he instructed. He saw the, not fear, but distrust in the boy's eyes and figured he deserved it. He went to slap the kid's face and he stepped back again. "I said stand your ground. There is more to fighting than laying a hit on someone and taking a hit. You seem able to avoid being hit now you're not just stood there cowering. Lets see how good you are."

This time as the man went to slap him, he stayed on the spot but turned, ducking back from the blow. Then another and another, each coming from a different direction and each time he managed to avoid it while still staying where he was.

"Good," John admitted begrudgingly.

Sammie stood straighter at hearing the first ever, nearly respectful, word spoken to him by this man. The slap to his left cheek caught him unawares and it stung. He put his hand to the side of his face over the reddened skin and glared balefully at him. He had thought him finished.

"But not that good," the man added. "The fight is not over till the thing you're fighting is down and not moving."

Sammie's brows drew together. 'Thing'? But then he guessed that was what this man would think of the people he hunted down. Hell, the man thought he was a 'thing' too.

"And to get it down, you at least have to know how to throw a decent punch. Form a fist," and watched as the boy did as he commanded but did not take his other hand from his face or his eyes from John's. It was going to be a long day.

Moving to stand behind him, "Keep still!" as the kid kept turning, not letting him. He took up a position and pulling the hand down from the face, made it into a fist and placed it by the kid's waist. The right hand he also folded to a fist and placed it infront of the kid at chest height.

Sammie let the man manoeuvre him, placing his arms and then legs. John stood back, not satisfied but at least the kid looked to be in a semblance of a fighting stance. "Now, throw a punch with your right... Stop! You're gonna damage your elbow." He moved in close, chaperoning Sammie's right arm with his own, his hand covering the boy's. "Never lock your elbow. The whole power behind a punch must come from your body not just your arm."

Sammie was so conscious of the man behind him again, just as he had been during shooting practice. He supposed it was the easiest way to show someone how to do something but the man always seemed to be so tight against his ass. He knew John did not actually desire him but he did use every opportunity to get up close and personal with him. He took it as a threat.

"Now, swivel on this foot," and he slapped the kid's right thigh none too lightly, "Turn the back one at the same time," moving him like a puppet. "Now back. Again. Lead with the fist, rotate your wrist. Back of the hand upwards. Don't' forget the legs." He ran the kid through it numerous times, commanding, "Again, again," watching as he stepped back, still repeating his instruction, leaving the kid to do it on his own.

Sammie continued, feeling foolish but he thought he was slowly getting the hang of it. Not that he had tried to hit the man again yet. As if on cue, "Right. Hit me," he was told as John stood directly in front of him. He did, or tried to. John blocked the punch with his hand but Sam was pleased to hear the smack of skin on skin. At least he had not missed. "Again." Once more John blocked him but he did not look disgusted so that was something.

Sammie tried to hit him in a different place but still the man blocked him. Next he shifted his feet a little just before he threw the right hook. Still John blocked it but he looked at him with more interest, not just boredom. His arm began to feel like it was made of lead before the man told him to stop. Thankfully dropping his arms, shaking them out, it did not last long.

"Now the left hook," and a small lop sided grin reached his lips as the boy groaned and gave him a look so reminiscent of when Dean was that age.

=0=

John was getting tired. Tired of having to repeat himself so often. He had had hope in the beginning as he realised that the kid had some natural defensive instincts but that had been the height of it. He had had him practice the boxing moves and then progressed to using them to actually thump, hit someone, him, but it was hopeless.

Even though he knew the kid felt about as much hatred for him as he did for the boy, he either was not even trying to hurt him or was just useless. He had tried to get him angry, made taunts about his past, about the fact he was nothing more than a whore, a fuck toy and always would be. But the boy just got upset, his anger causing him to make even more mistakes.

"Use that anger but keep it controlled." He had instructed, "There's no use getting mad if you can't direct it. Now damn well hit me! I know you want to."

He had become hot and irritable, beyond frustrated and had hit out at him hoping that he would defend himself and fight back. After the hours they had spent out here, the little bastard had resorted to covering his head once more, just standing there looking pathetic.

Sammie stood his ground, wanting to be able to do as he was being taught, when all his instincts were telling him to run. He was so tired and he seemed to hurt all over. The muscles in his arms were sore from the continual raised position and the constant boxing practice. His back ached as did his legs and there was fresh bruising all over his body from the jabs and slaps that had steadily become heavier and sharper. He thought that when Dean got back, he would take one look at him and think he had been beaten after all.

And now there was something more on the angry visage before him. The man was looking at him like he was planning something and everything the man had planned so far was another way to try to get him to leave.

Sammie was not really conscious of his ability to read people so well. It was just a knack he had acquired, something he had gotten good at over the years, especially the last few. From an early age he had been able to sense when his father would turn, would turn from the jovial, best friend, best dad in the world to the world's meanest. It had always been so quick but somehow Sammie had always had that brief moment to get his sister out of reach, out of harms way, usually by stepping into it himself.

Then later, he had been able to tell the days when he would not be left alone, when his uncle, who had moved in with them a year after his father went to prison, managed to talk his grandmother into leaving them with him. It had never taken much. That woman had been such a bitch, never being able to do enough for her perfect sons. Never believing a word against them, no matter the proof.

So now he knew what that expression coming over John Winchester's face was. It was a foreboding of pain. Anger and power.

There was a beginning of a change in Sammie, he had had enough of this, he was not going to just lay there and take it anymore. He belonged to someone now and it was not to this man. He took a step back. Then another and saw the anger light the flame in the dark eyes.

"No you don't. Come here you fucking piece of..." and John ran after the kid, grabbing at him. He might not be able to fight but the kid could squirm and John found himself getting madder and madder as the he tried to get away, would not submit to him. He could not blame him, it was obvious what he was going to do and it was not going to be easy on the boy, it was not going to be pleasant at all.

"Get off me!" Sammie screamed, his immediate terror turning to anger as he found it hard to believe that this could be happening again. Now that he should be safe, now that he had Dean. Dean had promised to keep him safe.

"Make me," trapping the thin arms, wrapping them across his chest, John was able to clamp them down with just one of his own.

Sammie bucked back, jumping, trying to make himself as heavy as possible. Still the bastard would not let him go. He tried stamping on the bridge of a foot, a sure fire way to cause pain but the man was too quick, or experienced and dodged his feet out of the way. He managed a heal kick to a shin and got a heavy punch to the side in response.

John picked the struggling figure up and managed to swing him off balance and they both crashed to the ground, the lawn taking some of the impact. He lay on the boy, pulling his own arms free and kicked the feet apart.

Sammie began to scream at him, telling him again to, "Get off me, get the fuck off me!" But he was ignored. His hands and forearms were trapped beneath his chest and John was moving on top of him in a way he was all too familiar with. He was going to rape him now, not just take him, not ask for his due or demand that he capitulate to him. No, he was going down the violent route.

The boy was crying, gabling almost incoherently and it just made John the angrier. Everything he had shown him in the hours that they had spent out here, everything he had told him and still all he could do was duck and act the victim without fighting back. Well if all he could be was the victim then so be it.

He had wanted the kid to fight back, had wanted him to hit him, to stand up for himself. If he could prove after everything that John had already done to him, that he was not just going to lay there and take it, then he had been willing to give him the benefit of his time and patience to turn him in to someone that would be useful, that would be able to hold his own on a hunt. Someone that could be at Dean's side both in life and in the hunt.

But the kid was fucking hopeless and he just knew that nothing short of radical action was going to change that. They did not have time for the kid to learn bit by bit, did not have years as he had had with Dean, as he had had himself. His son's life depended on the people around him being dependable and all this kid was was a weight dragging him down.

With his knees between the boy's, John reared back, pulling the kid with him, one arm around his waist. He began to struggle again so he caught his arms in a vice like grip then his right hand moved to the fastening on Sammie's jeans.

"No. No. Please don't. Not like this. Please. You can fuck me. You know you can. I won't fight. But please, not like this please."

It sickened John. He could feel the rage swimming around his head, heating up his blood. The pleading, the offers of sex when the kid should be fighting him. He got the button undone then using both hands he practically ripped the jeans over the buttocks and thin thighs causing him to scream out, "No. Please, John. Sir. Not like this. I can.. I can make it good for you. Ple..ase..se," sobbing out the words as he held himself up on trembling arms.

Sammie's head dropped between his shoulders as shameful tears spilled onto his cheeks. The man's callused hands were holding his hips so tight and the rough fabric and metal fastening on the worn jeans were rubbing harshly between his buttocks.

He was shamed and afraid. Not of what was happening. He knew that it was not his fault, that he had no choice or chance, but what would he do when Dean came back and wanted to fuck him? How would he be able to explain the damage this man would inflict on him? That he would need the time to heal? And his greatest fear, Dean would not want him once John had done this to him.

Why, why did this man hate him so much? He had tried, he had done everything demanded of him. He had done his best to fight back, to hit the man, to hurt him if he was honest. He had never been able to stand up for himself in such away. He had no experience.

Right from the first, his uncle had been so much bigger than him, so much stronger. Then the man in the big fourteen wheeler who had been so kind and given him food and even sweets, driving him away from 'home' for hours then would not let him out of the high cab until he had 'paid' for the ride.

By the time Hutch had gotten his hands on him, he was not so naive but then he too, took. Men, one after another took from him even when he was no longer hopeful, when he knew that was all he had and he would give it at a price. Still some men wanted to take and now so did John Winchester.

"Why?" he sobbed out, "Why do you hate me so much? What did I do?"

John froze as the figure stopped fighting, with his hand undoing his own pants and laughed almost hysterically. "Do? What did you do?" sounding incredulous as if the kid should have no doubts. "Do? It's what you can't do! What you're going to do! Hate you? I don't fucking give a rats ass about you! It's Dean I care about! My son. The one you're going to get killed!" and he pushed up from the ground, half holding the slim figure and threw him down, seeing him hit hard.

He ran his hands through his hair leaving them there, holding his head. "Why? Why you? What the fuck are you? What did you do to my son to have him so fucking besotted with you? Hey? Some spell? Some talisman? What?"

Pushing himself up, Sam turned wide frightened eyes up at the figure, even now towering over him, violence seeming to seep from every pore. Carefully he turned, reaching for his pants and slowly pulled them up, never daring to take his eyes from the huge man. He sobbed out in a small voice, "Nothing. I did nothing. He found me."

The kid crawled back as John threw his arms down and took a step towards him. He saw the fear in the wide eyes and did not know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but also knew if he did kill the boy, he would lose Dean forever. If, that was, Dean did not just shoot him.

But he was so damn angry and right now he wanted to hurt this kid. Hurt him for being so vulnerable, hurt him for not being able to stand up to him. He wanted to hurt him because he had taken his son's love from him.

All those women had meant nothing, he had always been the only person his son cared about. He looked up to him, respected him and loved only him. Now this scrawny kid had somehow gotten Dean so enraptured, so in love, he admitted, that he hated it. He did not rationalize what he was feeling, he was not truly aware that he was jealous. All he knew was that when he looked at this slut, this damn whore, he hated him.

The kid was cowering there at his feet, not even having the wit to run from him. He became truly incensed. He lunged forwards and grabbed at the long hair before the kid could duck from him. Pulling him up to kneeling, he grabbed him with an arm around his waist and, once more with little difficulty, flipped him over onto his hands and knees.

"No. Please, John don't. Please."

"Shut the fuck up!" John screamed at him. "Never, _never_ say my name to me with that fuckin' cocksucking mouth!" The boy went limp in his arms.

Sammie forced himself to relax, trying to become a dead weight. He was anything but, but knew that it would hurt less, there would be less physical damage if he did not resist. He had had far too much experience of this. The physical pain was one thing. He had learnt to divorce himself from it but it was always harder for his mind to be else where.

He had practiced and succeeded to remove his mind from the actions of his body, but that was when he had had his barriers all in place and intact. When he was nothing inside but a cold receptacle with no feelings. Now he was unarmed. Dean had broached and knocked down all those walls he had painstakingly constructed. He had made him feel, made him love. And it was because he only wanted Dean to be able to have him that he had fought John and not just surrendered immediately.

It was swift and brutal. Sammie could not hold in the scream as John thrust into him. He had known the man would have him sooner rather than later but had not thought it would be like this. The words he used, the names he called him. All he had heard before but there was such enmity, such passionate hatred. Each searing thrust told Sammie he was powerless, worthless and despised.

John stared into the distance, his actions now automatic as he too divorced himself from his actions. He came after a mere five thrusts but did not notice until his painful prick slipped from the kid's arse. He stared down wondering what the fuck he was doing. Fuck! He had just _raped_ the kid. He pushed him away from him hard as if he was poison.

Quickly, he climbed to his feet, fastening up his jeans as he stared down in horror. His own was nothing to the look of betrayal, fear and hatred he was receiving from the figure twisted on the ground. He took another step back but then held his ground. He set his face to a sneer. Maybe the bastard would finally realise he would be better off gone.

Never taking his eyes off the man that had just violently sodomised him, Sammie reached shaking hands to his jeans and once more began slowly pulling them up to cover himself. He moved backwards along the grass away from the figure that just stood and watched him.

Sammie crawled further away and got his feet under him then he was up and off into the woods. It hurt, it hurt so fucking much but still he ran and did not stop to look back until he was deep within the trees. Leaning against one, he breathed deeply peering around, looking for signs of pursuit, unable to hear anything over his own harsh breaths and the blood pumping in his skull.

It was a long time before he felt able to move. He was calmer and could hear nothing indicating that the man was following him. But then he guessed the man believed he had made his point. He pushed off from the trunk and moved cautiously back the way he had come but veering to the left, all the time apprehensive about what would be waiting for him.

He could see the cabin and the deserted lawn. Looking around, he saw a tree he thought he could handle then began to climb. Sammie had never climbed a tree in his life. There had been no childhood adventures with friends in parks or even by himself. Now it was fear that drove him high into the branches and an inkling that he might be able to gain a vantage point, and therefore warning.

Pulling himself up to gingerly sit as securely as he could, straddled in the fork of a branch, he watched the cabin's back door and settled in to wait. Wait until either the man was safely asleep, drunk and unconscious, or until Dean came back.

He leant forwards against the trunk, his arms coming around to wrap it securely. His heart was breaking inside and he desperately wanted to cry but knew he must not. Not only had he taken that vow years ago but he knew that if he let the tears fall now, if he began to cry, he would never be able to stop.

John returned to the cabin feeling like an old man. As soon as the kid had run for it he knew he had no chance of catching him and if he did, he knew he would do something he was sure to regret. Or more likely, something that was sure to come back and bite him in the ass. He did not want to even think about what he had already done.

Moving around the kitchen he grabbed a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and, dragging a chair out with his foot, threw himself down to sit at the big oak table. The first slug burnt, just the way it should and, not bothering with a glass, he just sat and drank and waited to see if the whore would bother coming back.

One thing was for sure, as soon as he got into a decent sized town, he was going to find a willing woman with breasts heavy in his hands and perhaps carrying a fair few extra pounds so there would be plenty enough padding to give him a soft, comfortable ride.

==000==

TBC...


	14. Chapter 14

It had gotten dark before Sammie thought that it would be safe to leave the refuge of the tree. He did not want to move. His whole body hurt more than it had in a long time and he knew each movement would cause shooting pains in his ass. But he was hungry. His emotions might be in turmoil and his body damaged but it was demanding the mundane. He had not eaten since breakfast at just gone dawn when he had been summoned and told of the day's lesson.

It took him far too long to summon up the will to climb down from his sanctuary. He had thought to stay there until Dean came back but that could be hours, another day if he had decided to stop. But then he realised that he did not want him back. Not while he was like this. He did not want him to see him like this, used and ugly.

He was covered in bruises, he knew, and he had grazes on his knees, elbows and face from the grass lawn. He worried that John had done him actual damage and not just made him hurt. He gingerly touched his cheek and felt the dried dirt and encrusted blood there. It needed cleaning, he needed cleaning. Dean would not want him like this.

Another part of him imagined Dean coming back and, taking one look at him, would be so incensed that he would go after his father. He had warmed himself in the tree with visions of the revenge that would be meted out on his behalf leaving the elder Winchester bloodied and broken, begging for mercy.

But now he had to tend to himself. He had to get to his bag where he still had the tube of antiseptic numbing salve that he had hoped he would never have the need to use again but had kept just in case. He had to clean the scrapes and grazes before they healed to scars. It was not vanity. He could not afford to let that happen. His looks were all he had to trade on.

It took him several attempts to descend from the tree, finally falling to the ground, pain shooting through him. He bit at his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. He would not let the tears come. He had sat and stared dry eyed for hours, he would not cry now.

He took a circuitous route back to the cabin, tripping in the dark, sending fresh pains jarring his body. He crept onto the veranda and peered through a window. He could see nothing in the darkness, all seemed quiet. He cursed the slight squeak of the screen door and slowly pushed his way into the kitchen.

The light came on and he stood in horror, blinking at the sight of John Winchester, sat at the table facing him, waiting for him. He could run again but there was no where for him to realistically go and he was tired. Tired and hurting and wanting an end to this.

"So, you came back?" and John raised an eyebrow at him. He had to admit he was surprised, and disappointed. He had thought the kid would not be back until Dean was, if at all. He pointed at the table in front of him. "For you. Take it and never come back." Then he went back to drinking his current bottle of beer.

Sammie moved further into the room, studying the items laid out on the table. An empty whisky bottle and several beer ones too. A stack of money and the gun he had placed there the day before that obviously had not been touched, just left. Standing by the table, he slowly reached forwards and picked up one of the crisp, new hundred dollar bills and looked up at the man.

"That's five thousand dollars. Take it."

Whilst looking John Winchester in the eye, something happened inside of Sammie. There was a voice that told him to tell the man to go fuck himself. He had done his worst and this was all that he had left. He could still kill him of course, but he suddenly realised that he would not. He could easily shoot him, get rid of his body and tell Dean that he had taken the money and run but for some reason Sammie was convinced that he was not going to do that. He would of done so all ready.

Making his movements deliberate, Sammie used he dollar bill to wipe some of the dirt and blood off his face. Then he screwed it up and threw it onto the rest. He saw anger flash in the drunken eyes. Still moving slowly, he stepped to the left and picked up the gun. Raising his arm, he pointed it directly at his tormenter and aimed for a spot on his forehead, right between his eyes.

John sneered knowing that he was safe. The kid was hopeless, he might actually pull the trigger but nothing would happen.

Sammie was thinking clearly for the first time, clinically clearly. Without taking his eyes from the other's, he reached up with his left hand, slid the barrel, cambering the bullet, then stood once more with his right arm straight, aiming the gun and for the first time it did not waver. There was a hint of a smile to his lips as he waited for the derision then, very deliberately, he used his thumb to click off the safety.

John put his bottle down and sat forwards in his chair. They both knew then that John would never be allowed to touch Sam again.

"I suppose you're gonna tell Dean," John spoke, more a satement than a question.

"No! And neither will you," still pointing the gun at him.

"You don't want him to know you whored yourself to his father," he confirmed, nodding his head knowingly.

"I don't want him to know that the father he loves is a rapist."

John said nothing more and Sam moved to the refrigerator, not letting his aim waver. He grabbed what he could, a strange meal of cheese, chicken and peanut butter. Clutching the food to his chest, he moved to leave the room, turning back to see the man still watching. He finally lowered the gun.

John picked up the beer bottle, saluted him with it then turned away, finished with him.

That was fine with him. Sam walked up the stairs, stopping to breath deeply as he began to shake. Getting to the room he closed and locked the door leaning back against it.

He had finally managed to stand up for himself.

==000==

"Billy?"

"Sammie? That you? Hey, how are you?"

He held in a sob. His friend sounded so happy to hear from him. He should have called before but he had been so caught up and every time he thought about it, Dean would want him or they were in the car. "Tell me. How are you? What's it like there?"

"Awe, Sammie. Thankyou. It's awesome! I've got my own place, its small but it's mine. I've got a bathroom and cooker and everything. The job's good too. I was so scared and its hard work but Thomas, that's my boss, says he's gonna train me up on the forklift!"

Sammy curled up smiling as Billy told him about the other men there, about the pranks they had played on him in his first week. He had been really worried but then realised that none of them knew about his past and that was what always happened to the new guy. He sounded so happy and excited and Sam was truly glad for him. He listened, incredulous about 'the cheese incident' and said 'really?' and 'that's so cool' in all the places Billy actually took a breath.

"….and there's this girl. I think she likes me. She's not good looking or anything, but not bad, but when she smiles, it kinda makes me…I don't know. But I like it when she smiles at me."

"You ask her out yet?"

"No!" sounding scared.

"Why not? You think she likes you."

"But, it's a girl, Sammie. I've never kissed a girl. She'll want me to kiss her, won't she? I don't know anything about girls!"

Sam smiled, Billy actually sounded frightened about it. "They aren't that much different from boys."

"Sammie! Of course they are. They're _so_ different."

"Bet she's got arms and legs and can walk and talk and smile and laugh and has a mind of her own. Talk to her. Ask her out for a drink, coffee first if you're unsure. Try to make her laugh. That's what normal people seem to do. They make each other laugh." He knew that Dean would have the most beautiful smile on his face when he had just made him laugh. Sam did not laugh often, maybe that was why.

"But you know that neither of us have ever had a chance at a normal life," there was such regret in Billy's voice.

"That's not true. You're having the chance now," Sam assured him softly.

"Yeah, I am. Thankyou, Sammie." Also knowing that without him, he would still be on that street corner wondering how long he had left before that final trick killed him in one way or another.

"And Billy?" not wanting to spoil his friend's good mood, "If you do find the courage to try to kiss her, do you remember how you always kissed me at first? Slow, just my bottom lip? Do that. I always liked that. Bet she will too."

And he had to stop because he had liked it, he had loved it that Billy would hold him and kiss him so softly, so gently that it would make all the rest fade away, just for that moment. Billy would hold him tight and rock him, would make him feel a little safer in their shitty world.

"I miss you, Sammie."

Sam curled up tighter, a hand over his eyes as he could not hold in a sob. He wanted him here, wanted to be able to just curl up with him and have him kiss him and tell him it would be alright. He had always managed to make him believe him. It was a gift he had, one that he had given to a boy called Sammie.

"What's wrong? Sammie? Tell me, what's the matter?" anxiety in his voice.

"It's nothing. I'm doing okay." He so wanted to talk to him, to tell him, but he seemed so happy that he did not want him to worry about him, as he knew he would.

"Sammie. You can lie to yourself but you know you've never been able to lie to me worth shit. Spill. What is it? As he abandoned you?" something they had both suspected that Dean would do.

"No! No. I think he actually loves me, Billy."

"Then what? Tell me."

There was a long pause as Sam rubbed at his eyes. He did not want to burden Billy, but he was the only one he could talk to, the only person he would admit anything to and he was so lonely here, curled on top of this bed with nothing more than a wooden door between him and a steadily drunker John Winchester. "It's his father. He won't leave me alone. He wants me gone."

So he told Billy about the blowjobs and the money and how he appeared to hate him so much and he did not know why. And as he talked to his friend he told him what had happened that day, told him about how scared he was that the man would go to far, would kill him no matter his earlier realisation.

"Come here. Take the money and come live here with me."

Sobbing, "But I can't!"

"Why the hell not?"

"I love him."

"What! Who?" he had just been talking about a man that had just raped him.

"Dean, I love Dean," Sam admitted finally, letting the tears come.

Billy was quiet and just let Sam cry. It hurt that he was so far away and could not comfort him. He knew what it was like to be in love with someone, and that someone was in pain.

"Where is he?" not really wanting to say the man's name and not understanding why he was leaving him alone with his father.

"He's had to go out on a job. I'd just get in the way." He did not like it. He was terrified that at any minute Dean could be hurt or even killed but it was their profession. But why he had had to go on his own he did not understand.

"If you can't leave him..."

"No, I can't,"

"Then you have to tell him."

"I can't"

There was such pain in Sammie's voice. "Why, why the hell not?" and immediately Billy regretted his anger. "Sammie, I'm sorry. Please don't cry, please, it's okay. He'll be back soon and you'll be okay. But you have to tell him."

"He'll hate me."

"Why? You've done nothing wrong."

It did not stop Sam thinking of Dean's reaction when he had found out about that first blowjob his father had demanded. "It's his father. He loves him. I don't think he would believe me. That his dad would do that. Not after the fight the first time."

And he went on to explain how after that first time, John had stayed away for two days and as soon as he had come back, Dean had punched him hard enough to make the big man stagger back and leave a bruise on his jaw. "Guess the slut told you then," he had said and Sam had sat there so silent as the argument had ensued.

"Dean thinks its settled."

Billy wanted to argue, to convince him he needed to tell him but he understood. People did not react like they should. Did not always lay the blame where it belonged. Just look how Sammie had ended up on the streets in the first place.

"Leave, Sammie. Come here."

"I can't. I don't want to leave Dean and there's.."

"There's what?"

"I don't know. I keep having this feeling. I…" he did not know how to explain it. Something that had been bothering him and he had wanted to talk to Billy about it but now he was, it seemed so stupid. "Fuck! It's like, it's like I'm supposed to be with him. That first time I saw him I felt like I knew him. I know it's stupid but I just can't imagine not being with him now."

He knew Billy would never be able to understand. He himself did not understand. But he could feel it inside. It was like something pulling him to the man, as if he was attached somehow and when he was with him, he made all the bad memories go away.

Billy had always comforted him but never really made him forget. Dean made him forget. And now he wanted him here. He knew that once Dean came back it would be better. Not only would John not be able to lay a finger on him, but surely the dream would seem nothing.

Ever since he had woken up on the floor, images and sounds had been circling through his head. It had scared him.

"It's not stupid, Sammie," and Billy did not want to admit it but he knew that he had lost him, he had never felt the same way that he himself did, "you love him."

"Yes." Sam let out a sigh, "I hope he comes back soon."

"He will…..Sammie, you know don't you? You can always come to me."

"Yes, Billy. Always."

"Always. And call me, any time." He could tell Sam was settling down, was calmer. "Sleep and he'll be there soon. I'm sure."

"Love you, Billy."

"And I love you, Sammie." But then, he always had.

==000==

TBC...


	15. Chapter 15

Sam had curled up leaning against the pillows but did not dare to sleep. The door was locked and he had the gun in his hands but he did not feel safe. He had been able to hear cursing and things breaking in the kitchen long after he had left the man down there. He assumed that John was still drinking and that he was no doubt getting angrier with each swallow.

He had felt a little better after he had cleaned himself up but his reflection in the wall length mirror of the sumptuous on suite was not a pretty sight. The surroundings were not helping, they just made him feel like what he was, a used and tired, hired fuck. Something bought and paid for that was here only at someone else's pleasure.

He would have preferred to be in one of those cheep motel rooms that he had been sharing with Dean or even in the back of the big black car. There Dean had chased these kind of thoughts aside, had treated him as a lover, a partner. Once more he prayed that he was okay and that he would be back soon even though he knew no one would be listening. No one had ever listened to one of his prayers.

Staring into his own eyes, he promised himself that no one would ever treat him like that again. He was done with it. If the man downstairs ever came near him again, he would kill him. If Dean did abandon him, he would not go back to a life on the streets selling his ass. If nothing else, he had this gun now, he would use it to protect himself, or to finish it.

Snapping out of these thoughts, he turned to get ready for bed, once more wrapping himself in the plaid shirt. Checking that the door was indeed locked, he had crawled into bed and, placing the gun carefully on his lap, had called Billy.

He must have fallen to sleep after all as he shocked awake, quickly finding and grabbing the weapon, unsure what had awoken him. He looked around the room, still brightly lit as he had not dared to turn out the lights. His eyes went to the door knob as it rattled. He raised the gun in none too steady hands. Please no, not again. "Leave me alone," he pleaded under his breath.

A knocking at the door. "Sammy?" and the knob rattled again.

Sam leapt out of bed, the gun abandoned as he ran to the door. He could not get it open fast enough, struggling with the key in his haste. Then he was there, stood before him and Sam threw himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around him and just pushed his face into his neck.

Dean tottered backwards under the assault, then dropped his bag and stood holding the slim frame in his arms. He held him tight, just breathing him in. He had driven for near a day and a night to get back here, to be back in these arms. He let out a sigh that was so deep and he would have been happy never to move again.

Sam could feel the other's breathing becoming deeper but it was not the deep breaths of arousal. Dean was falling asleep where he stood. Reluctantly, Sam disentangled himself and whispered, "Come on, let me take you to bed."

Dean just made a noise that sounded of a smile and let himself be led into the room. He swayed on tired legs as the boy, he had risked driving through the night and the tiredness to be with, began to undress him, dropping his clothes to the floor.

Once down to his briefs, as he had leant on the broadening shoulders as Sam unlaced and removed his boots and freed him from his jeans, he pulled the boy up to stand in front of him and with a sleep filled smile looked at him. He tried to focus then his eyes went wide and he awoke from the pleasant feeling of being 'home'.

"Sammy? What the fuck happened to you?" He held the boy's face by the chin as he tried to turn away from him, to hide his cheek. Dean ran an arm around his back preventing him from leaving, pulling him close as his hand went to cradle the narrow face. His fingertips lightly caressed the swollen graze. "What did he do to you?" he asked much quieter, sounding sad and almost scared.

Damn, Sam wanted to tell him all, wanted to be able to tell Dean what had happened to him and have him make it all go away, to make it all better but he knew he would not. If he did, it would all just get worse. Dean would no doubt go after his father to beat the crap out of him, if not kill him. Afterwards he would come to hate Sam, to hate himself.

That is, if he believed him.

Sam knew Dean well enough that no matter what his father did, he would still love him, would still want that approval off him, no matter his recent apparent rebellion. He would find it hard to believe that the man, he knew Dean idolised, would be capable of doing such a thing, never mind to a boy, to Dean's boy. Right now, Sam felt old.

He was smart, he listened and observed. He knew about Dean's near alcoholism, knew about his 'new attitude' to the elder Winchester. He had heard it all argued backwards and forth. And he knew how much Dean withdrew into himself afterwards. And he knew he could not tell him.

He forced a sardonic smile to his lips, "He wanted to teach me to fight. To make a 'man' out of me."

"Yeah?" not sounding convinced but willing to let Sam continue, hoping it was the truth.

"Yeah," forcing a rueful laugh, "But he didn't quite succeed."

Dean was tired and wanted to take Sam at face value. "At least tell me you got a couple of good ones in?" He smiled into the hazel eyes staring into his. He remembered all too well the 'fight training' he used to receive as he was growing up. He had never looked like this though.

"A couple," Sammy lied, wanting the questions to be over. "I'm glad you're back," changing the subject. He ran his hands up and over Dean's sides onto his back.

"Me too," and Dean leant forwards, pulling the lad in his arms closer and kissed him. He was sure there was more that Sam was not saying but right now all he wanted was to sink into bed with this boy pulled in tight next to him. He pulled back, sucking on that bottom lip then letting it go. He smiled coquettishly, "Thought you wanted to take me to bed?"

Sam returned the smile softly at him. Even tired with dark circles under his eyes, Dean was gorgeous and the sleepy expression was just making him adorable.

==000==

Waking slowly, Sam wallowed in the safe feeling of lying there, his limbs entangled with Dean's. Lying on his back, the older and larger man was half on him, a leg nestled between his own and his face pushed into the crook of his neck. He had gone to sleep with Dean's fingers entwined with his and that was how he awoke.

He was glad that Dean had stopped asking questions which he could not answer but he thought that there would be more. After all, he had not seen the rest of him yet. He would want to know about all the bruising and grazes. But that was for later. Now, Sam stiffly turned more onto his side, facing Dean as the sleep heavy body reluctantly shifted to accommodate him, still without waking up. Sam smiled at the faint begrudging grumbling noises.

He leant up onto his elbow and slowly used his fingers to smooth the hair from his boyfriend's forehead. He liked the thought. Boyfriend. It was a ordinary term just like Billy and he had spoken of. He smiled to himself imagining if he used the term to Dean's face.

The man showed no signs of rousing and Sam realised he had necessities to attend to. Leaning forwards, he kissed his 'boyfriend' on the end of his nose then carefully slid from the bed and embrace. He hurt, he ached and he hurt and he was so thankful that Dean had not wanted him the night before, that he had been so tired. He would not have stopped him, of course, but doubted that he would have been able to hide that something was wrong.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and tended, he expected to see Dean waking but the figure was 'dead to the world' so Sam let him sleep. He dressed quietly, covering as much of himself as he could and, retrieving and tucking the gun into the front of his waistband, cautiously headed down stairs. He should not have need of the thing now he was no longer alone, on his own, but he still felt vulnerable.

The kitchen was in disarray, evidence of John's drunken marauding. Empty bottles on their sides littered the counter, table and floor. The money, mostly still on the table, was strewn as if it had been swept by an angry hand. Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell. He had been hungry but now that stench of spilt beer and whisky made it turn.

The whole cabin was in silence and Sam kept a vigilant ear to ensure that he was aware of any movement, that he would not be taken by surprise as he began to tidy up the mess. Each time he bent, he was unpleasantly reminded of the afternoon before. By the time he had the bottles in a sack, the table and counter cleaned down and the money stacked in his hand, he had tears in his eyes.

He leant back against the sink, staring at the cash which blurred as the tears fell. It was not the pain, the discomfort of aching limbs and abused flesh that caused the salt water stained cheeks but a weariness. A weariness of his soul as he realised that nothing was ever going to change for him. No matter where he went, what he tried, he always ended up with marks, bruises and a searing burn in his ass.

He had thought that this time things would be different. He had believed Dean when he had said he would never have to 'whore' again. That he would keep him safe. He had clung to the words, desperately wanting to believe even when faced with the contrary, with John Winchester's prick.

The blowjobs were nothing. He could handle them no problem, but it was the obvious hatred he was having trouble dealing with, the hatred that had led to that searing pain in his ass that was flaring again with his movements.

What the fuck was he going to do? There was no way that he would get through the day without Dean wanting to use him. And he had been waiting for him, wanting him too, but now he was never going to be able to disguise the discomfort, the pain. Then he would know, Dean would know that he was still a whore.

He wanted to be sick. The thought of the look on that beautiful face as he realised that the two men in his life had cuckolded him, had both betrayed him.

He threw the money down onto the table, threw it away from himself then turned, his hands holding tightly onto the sides of the sink as he leant over, his shoulders shaking as he cried, sobs racking his body.

Damn them! Damn them both for making him feel like this. For ripping open his heart and destroying all the defences he had been forced to build through the years. And Damn Dean most of all for making him love him.

Dean stood at the bottom of the stairs watching the slim figure as he shook, sobbing as if his heart was breaking. The sight made him want to rush over there and grab Sam up, never letting him go, forever keeping him secure in his arms. The sight also made his knees go weak. Even he was not blind enough to not realise something was wrong, something was very wrong.

He stood there and let the boy cry. He did not know what to do but resisted his overwhelming desire to go to him. Whatever was making the boy sob like that, he reasoned, he needed to let it out. Sam thought he was alone and Dean did not believe that he should let him know that he was witnessing this. If he embarrassed the teenager, he would never find out from him what was wrong.

He had awoken to find an empty space beside him. He had called Sammy's name quietly to no response so, sitting up and running his hands over his face and through his hair, he looked around and decided he should rise and shower.

All the way back here, muscles stiff behind the steering wheel, he had warmed himself with visions of arriving back at this cabin and taking the boy into his arms. That had happened and it had been wonderful. He had had no doubts that the boy had missed him, that he wanted him here, when he had 'landed' in those arms.

But he had also had visions of waking up together, slowly drifting into consciousness and into an embrace and then letting Sammy know just how much he had missed him. He had intended that the pair of them would remain in bed the entire day, loving, fucking and being together.

As soon as they left this place, he was going to insist that his father find them somewhere to live. A decent house where they could set up a real home. It was time. He had dragged Sam around with them for long enough. It was time to keep his promises, to make them true.

He spent a long time in the shower, luxuriating under the hot spray in the large well appointed bathroom. It was sumptuous and he determined to make the most of it knowing that the house they found would be much more modest. But it would be theirs. For as long as they paid the rent. He knew already that the bed shared by himself and Sam would have those crisp, clean, white sheets he knew the boy deserved, and would look so damned luscious against.

The thought made him want his lover with him now. His prick begged for him.

Quickly he left the shower, drying, then dressing himself just in jeans, then he went in search of him, also hoping that, as the younger man was already up, there would be food involved in his welcome. He padded down the stairs and his eyes lit up on finding the slim figure so easily, instantly hating all those clothes the kid had on, covering him from sight.

About to call out a greeting, he came to a halt. Sammy was crying, really crying.

But why?

Crap! Did it mean he was wrong and Sam did not want him back? Could it be that while he was away, he had realised that he did not want to stay with him? His heart suddenly went cold and heavy at the thought. But what of last night? The way he had thrown himself at him. That had been real. No, no it was something else. It had to be.

He looked around. The place had been cleaned and tidied and he wondered once more at the mess he had come into the night before. He was used to the empty beer bottles but had been at a loss as to explain the money. Now, after sleep and the clear light of day, he had an awful feeling. The money had come from his dad. It had to have. But what was it for? He did not want to entertain the thoughts which were already circling at the edge of his mind.

As he continued to watch, Sam seemed to quieten, his shoulders becoming still. Dean guessed the torrent of emotion was abating. Ensuring to make no sound, he returned up the stairs to the landing, then as if he had just awoken, he called out, "Sammy?"

Shit! Sam rubbed at his face, standing straighter. He tried to answer but had to clear his throat. "Here. Down here," he called, wincing at the thickness of his voice.

"I'm gonna take a shower," lied Dean as he hovered at the top of the stairs. He would give Sam time to compose himself before he went to him. Also himself. Those unpleasant images had invaded his mind and, praying that they were wrong, he needed time to control the anger that was stirring. He should not accuse until he had certainty and not just a vague feeling.

"Okay," Sam shouted up, wiping his nose, "I'll make you something to eat."

"Cool," and Dean just sat on the top stair waiting. 'Quit it, Dean,' he told himself as the images played. It was stupid. His Dad understood now and if he had bought Sam, the money would have been hidden from him, he was sure. He felt bad almost immediately. Sam wanted to leave that life behind. He should trust him.

Sam let out a sigh of relief. He ran the cold water and bathed his face, hoping the tear swell would go down before Dean saw him. That had been close. There was no way someone as good and kind, as caring as Dean was, would have not made him tell what was wrong and it would have been horrible because he knew that he could not. He would have to lie to him, something he did not want to do.

Not telling what his father had done was lying enough but he could not do that to him. He just knew that Dean would never be able to forgive the man but also he could not be without him. Sam understood that much but did not understand why.

He had been terrified of his own father. No, that was not quite right. He had been terrified of the man his father became as soon as the ring was pulled on the beer can. Sometimes it would make him a jovial, fun loving man who played catch and threw hoops, or rather a bent piece of wire, with him, if only for a little while, but most often, it made him mean and violent. Just the wrong word, look or movement and his fists would fly. But still, right up until the moment he had seen the final fist that had ended his mother's life, he had loved him. He was his Dad after all. It was what he knew.

Trying to stop thinking, Sam got on with the mundane actions of preparing food. He had found, in the brief chances presented, that he enjoyed this solely domestic chore. He cheered himself with thoughts of his own kitchen, the one in the home Dean had promised him, he would make it his, their own.

Still he believed. He knew he should not, but he wanted to believe everything Dean had promised.

By the time Dean appeared at the table, Sam felt able to show his face. The smile that greeted him, as the lithe figure slid onto a chair across from him, was impossible to resist and he just stood, one hand still on the plate he placed in front of Dean and smiled back. Until he felt the pull on the healing graze on his cheek. He quickly turned to the coffee maker.

Dean watched his every move. That smile had just been so fresh and natural but so short lived. He bided his time and kept his questions and suspicions to enjoy a quiet but companionable breakfast, drinking his fill of the sight of the boy that had changed everything.

==000==

TBC...


	16. Chapter 16

Dean enjoyed the sight of Sammy, sat opposite him across the large oaken table. Conscious of his regard, Sam appeared so nervous about it. He loved that the lad did not realise just how beautiful he was, that he was not arrogant about it. But once more, Dean realised how young he looked. If what he had been told was correct, Sam would be seventeen this year, if he ever got him to tell him the date. He had a small unnoticed smile to his lips as he thought of how they would celebrate the day. But looking at him now, he found that age hard to believe. Maybe he was just blessed with youthful looks?

It was just that, sometimes he felt so old himself and he worried that he was taking advantage of Sam. He probably was, but surely the boy was better off with him than back on that strip? And, he was only three years older himself and in a few years the difference would be nothing.

He sat back, nursing his strong black coffee, made to perfection by this 'angelic' blessing that had somehow been granted to him. No matter what the money was for.

Sam loved the way that Dean would stare at him, would look at him with a mixture of longing and love. This was not a face shaded by lust or avarice. This was a face that made him feel worth something, made him feel like he belonged.

He had to get up and away from that gaze. He did not deserve it now. He tried his best to rise smoothly and, collecting the empty plates, he turned to the sink. He knew he was still being watched, possibly studied as he ran the water, so he concentrated on his mundane actions.

Dean could not wait any longer. He needed to have his hands on him. Scraping the chair back, he circled the table and moved to stand behind his lover who, still having his hands in the sink, moved his head slightly signifying that he knew that he was there.

Dean stood close, resting his fingertips lightly against the slim hips and leant forwards to kiss him on the back of the neck, exposed to him as Sam finished with the dishes. He let his closed lips move backwards and forwards over the stretched skin, feeling the short hairs against them. He took his time, gently nipping with his dry lips, moving to the side of his neck.

Pulling his hands from the emptying sink, Sam just stood, leaning against the counter as his head involuntary tilted to the side allowing Dean greater access. He found himself having to hold himself up as his whole body relaxed into the so welcome sensations.

There was far too much fabric in his way, so still kissing that supple neck, Dean slowly reached up and pulled the plaid shirt, his he had noticed, down over the relatively broad shoulders and off as Sam acquiesced. Throwing the garment anywhere, he ran his hands, then arms, around him. Surrounding the trim frame, he pulled him back against himself, holding firmly as he began to truly nuzzle at the side of his neck.

Sam tried, but he could not hold in the quick hiss or the wince as Dean held him too tightly, squeezing him. The figure behind him stilled, loosening his grip and leant backwards but did not let him go. "Sammy? What's wrong? Don't you want me to do this?" slight confusion and fear in his voice.

Sam dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he thought he might cry again at the sheer 'lostness' in Dean's voice. He was not the only one to doubt them then? He turned within the arms and grabbed Dean's face in his water hot and softened hands. He looked at him, saw the worry marring his brow. All he could do was kiss him. Kiss him softly then draw back. "How could you think that?" so quiet and sadly himself, then he kissed him hard. Kissed him as if both their lives depended on it.

Dean tightened his hold, his right hand running up under Sam's t-shirt onto his back, his other sliding into the back of the jeans. Sam melted into the embrace, his own hands moving, one running through the short hair, the other cross Dean's shoulders.

But it was short lived. Dean pulled back, looking down. So did Sam. Both were looking at the gun tucked into his waistband. Dean could not keep the small smirk from his face, so tempted to say the obvious but he did wonder just why Sam had a gun in his pants.

Instead, he lifted the t-shirt and looked at the pistol. He recognised it immediately. It was the twin of his favourite silver one. He would puzzle this later as to why his father would give this particular weapon to Sammy but now he had more important things to think about.

Sam dreaded the questions that were sure to come but then found himself grabbed, hoisted and swung around to be lifted onto the table, Dean between his legs, his hands still holding onto his thighs. He had no time to catch his breath as Dean set to devouring his mouth, his hands under his top, searching everywhere.

"My kinda guy," Dean whispered hotly into his ear, "tall, slim, beautiful and gun totin'" and he pushed him back down onto the table following as he began an exploration with his mouth on Sam's face and neck, his hands pushing up the fabric, freeing and baring the chest to his lips.

He kissed his way over the expanse, trying to ignore the bruises disfiguring the pale skin. If Sam stayed with him, bruises and cuts would be a constant. He was not free from them himself. He had gained several on the recent hunt, not to mention the gash on the back of his leg. Sam had said nothing but he knew he had seen it.

But there were just too many. He pulled back and up to lean over him, palms flat on the wood as he looked Sam in the face. "Fuck, Sammy. What the hell did he do to you?"

Sam realised it was more of a statement, an acknowledgement than a question as Dean began to place light kisses over the bruises. His head fell to the side and he stared off, biting at his bottom lip. He found it hard to believe that Dean would still want him in this condition, that he was not put off by all the purple and black-blue blemishes, but he was nervous more so, that he was not.

He could not relax and enjoy the attention, could not let the man's amazing lips kiss away the pain. There was so much and it was still too raw. The anxiety, that he would not be able to cover up what had been done to him, resurfaced and it made it impossible for him to respond to the continued attentions as he normally would. It had been getting to the point where all Dean needed to do was look at him in a certain way and Sam was finding his prick going stiff in his pants.

But now, no matter those lips doing what they so knew how to do on his skin, he was basically too scared to get turned on.

He had been finding comfort in the kissing, his body moulding to the other's almost against his volition, but still he had thought that Dean would stop as he saw the state that he was in. He had, again, the realisation that the man actually cared for him, that he was more than a young body for him to fuck. That just made it worse.

As Dean's chin caught the so painful punch mark on his side, the memories he had been trying to bury, as he had learnt to do, came back, the way John had hurt him, had taken him so hatefully. His whole body flinched.

Dean froze, letting the smooth skin, caught between his lips, slowly escape as he began to frown. The figure, one moment so pliant and welcoming beneath his mouth and hands had just become stiff. His hands could feel the tension in Sam's lithe body. He could almost detect a slight shaking, a tremor.

Standing straight, letting his hands slide to and lightly grip the narrow hips, he looked up into Sam's wide, frightened eyes. He let his own eyes drop to the massive livid bruise on the young lad's side. His left fingertips moved up to lightly caress the deep purple and maroon, his eyes travelling back up to the other's hazel ones.

"Tell me. What did he do to you?"

Sam swallowed quickly and closed his eyes, turning his head away. He could feel the tears trying to force their way through his closed lashes. He knew he was not about to cry for himself. Still he should not cry for what was done to him. This morning had been ridiculous. It was for Dean. His heart was breaking at the sound of fear and anguish in the man's voice.

The boy was not going to tell him, that was clear. Dean had known something was very wrong. He had been a damn fool to leave Sam here with his father undefended. But just what the hell had the man done? His brain felt like it was pushing against an immoveable force as he tried to envision what his father, the man he had trusted his young lover with, could be guilty of. He had promised him. Well, no. That was not true. But they had come to an understanding.

Sam covered his eyes with a hand as Dean pulled back from him. 'He knows!' his mind screamed at him. 'He knows and he hates me.'

"Come on. Come on, Sammy." Dean reached for the hand covering those eyes that so often had him enraptured and pulled, encouraging the boy to sit up. Slowly Sam looked up at him through the dark fringe and let himself be pulled up and to standing. Dean turned and slowly led the dejected finger by the hand into the well appointed lounge and over to the massive couch.

He moved to sit, then lie back, his head and shoulders against the large cushion and pulled the boy down to lay with him. Wrapping his arms around the silent figure, as the lad stiffly lay on him, he then waited, hoping he would relax, that he would feel safe, safe enough to answer him.

Sam rested his head on Dean's naked chest, his cheek feeling hot and flushed against the cool, air exposed, skin. He tentively placed his left hand on the strong shoulder, his other hand tucking against Dean's side. Stretched out on top of the other, his body cushioned between loosely open legs, he wanted to sink down, letting all his weight just collapse onto him, but he was too tense, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

He did not believe that Dean was satisfied, that he would not begin to question him again. He closed his eyes and listened to the healthy heartbeat beneath his ear for as long as he was allowed, determined to ignore the feel of the gun, still there, digging into his belly, reminding him what was at stake. What he had promised himself.

Dean ran the fingers of his left hand softly through the silky locks of brunette hair, his other hand lightly covering the middle of Sam's back. He watched his fingers play and waited.

He had failed the boy. He had taken him away from a life of prostitution, swearing he would never have to get on his knees or back for anyone and he had failed. If John had done nothing but hurt him through teaching him to shoot or fight, then Sam would not be reacting like this. He would just come out and tell him. There was more to it.

He felt sick as he wondered just how much. "What's the money for?" he asked quietly.

If his father had been paying the boy, he would have hidden the cash, surely? Whatever the intention, he hazarded, John had not been happy with the outcome.

"He offered me money to leave," Sam answered simply. Why deny it? That much was straight forwards. There was no need to say who, Dean already knew his father wanted him to leave the whore on the side of the road somewhere.

Dean closed his eyes, biting at his bottom lip in an effort not to let his emotions take over. There had been thousands of dollars strewn about the cabin's kitchen. He had an eye for quickly counting cash. Sammy had turned down a great deal of money to stay with him. And it was not as if he was going to get a cushy life living with them. The boy knew that.

"Has…has he offered you money to have sex with him?" really not wanting to know the answer.

"No," quick, definite.

Dean was sure there had to be something though. Sam was stiff but his voice was not indignant. He was not mad that Dean was accusing him of selling his ass to his father but he was not saddened either that he should think such a thing. He just seemed resigned, if a little nervous.

He continued to run his fingers through the soft hair, thinking how to phrase his questions because he had to know. He had to know what his father had done. Other than already betraying his trust in him. He stared up at the ceiling, knowing the man was still up there.

But back to Sammy. "Did you share his bed?"

"No."

Sam did not think that he could take much more of this. He so wanted to tell Dean, to tell the man everything and let him make it better. But of course, if he did, it would do anything but 'get better'.

Dean considered for a while. He thought the boy could be lying but doubted it, but at the mention of his father's bed there had been a slight tightening of the fingers on his shoulder. Damn it! He just wanted to outright ask the kid what had been happening but he had tried that already and he knew demanding would just silence him. He continued with his gentle voiced questions, praying that he would eventually gain the truth.

"Did you let him fuck you?" He closed his eyes again, holding his breath.

If he had ever had the choice, it would have been no. But John Winchester had never given him a choice. Sam felt the body beneath him tense and his heart hurt that Dean was so on edge because he did not know the answer, because he could not, did not trust either of them. But then, he had no reason to. "Dean, I swear, I would never let your father fuck me." He was not technically lying, he had not allowed him to. There had been no choice, and it had not been about sex. It had been rage.

Still he felt like the world's greatest bastard as Dean relaxed under him and his arms moved to gently surround him, to enfold him.

"But there was something, wasn't there? There's something you're not telling me. I need to know, Sam. I've had all these images in my head ever since I saw that money. Since I saw all those marks on you. Tell me, Sam. Please. What did he make you do?"

"Dean, I got all the bruises from that so called fight training." He tried to inject indignation into his voice, force in a false bravado he did not feel and distract him. He wanted these questions to finish. He lifted up, pushing with his arms against the leather couch and looked up at the green gaze. He put a slight smile to his mouth and ducked his head to place a kiss to the reddened skin where his face had been pressed.

Dean ran a hand back into that hair, covering the back of the boy's head as he sucked up his right nipple and bit it so slightly, just hard enough for it to have a tantalising effect on his prick. 'Think,' he told himself, because this was a distraction.

"Sam!" he hardened his voice as he pulled on the head, forcing the lad to look up at him. He was not fooled by the look of lust on the damaged face. "There are finger bruises on your jaw. They're also on your hips. What did he make you do?" and before his eyes Sam changed.

Dean saw the barriers slam into place, saw the coldness return to the eyes, just as it had in that hotel room when the boy had yelled at him moments before he had run from him. Suddenly, the shinning lover turned back into the broken and used hustler. He knew it was a defence, one the boy had had to learn. He knew then that Sam was afraid of him finding out something.

Sam pushed away, kneeling back on the couch and spat out before he could stop himself. "I paid my fucking rent of course! I got on my knees so he would let me stay! I let your 'Daddy' force his prick down my throat so he wouldn't throw me out. All just so I could let you keep fucking me!"

His eyes went wide as he realised what he had just said. He wanted to take it back, he wanted to apologise, to beg Dean to take that look of horror off his face. He wanted him to know that he loved him, that he would do anything so he could be with him, but he had ruined that now.

He jumped from the couch and ran before the shocked man, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, could see the tears of shame stain his cheeks.

==000==

TBC...


	17. Chapter 17

Waking, feeling like he had just been dragged through the nether regions of Hell, John forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom. After a stinging hot shower, he gazed at his bleary appearance in the mirror. He did not believe his hand steady enough to shave safely so decided just to go downstairs and get a gallon of coffee.

He had vague recollections of drinking everything he could find easily in the well stocked cupboards and slowly attempting oblivion.

Glancing out of the landing window, he saw the beloved image of the Impala and guessed he would have some handling to do when his son saw the state of the kitchen, not to mention the fuck toy. He made it to the bottom of the stairs and stopped, sickened by the sight which greeted him.

The kitchen had been tidied, and he noticed the money in a pile on the counter. He would have to return it to the stash he kept here for emergencies. This had been a pretty big one but it had failed to do the job. The little fuck was still here, on his back, on the table. He turned around and retraced his steps. The last thing he needed was to see his son's face move any further down that body.

Passing that son's room, he paused. The two occupants were definitely 'occupied' elsewhere and would no doubt be for a while. He pushed the unlocked door open quietly and decided it was high time he found out just who this kid was, as he did not appear to be going anywhere anytime soon.

His feet enjoying the feel of the lush carpet, he moved to pull the kid's duffle up off the floor and onto the bed. He discovered all the new clothes were neatly folded and placed inside unlike Dean's clothes which were hanging from various surfaces and piled on the floor. That was another sign of Dean's rebellion against him.

John had always demanded that he be constantly packed and ready to move, keeping his 'kit' in order. He may not be in the marines any more but some things learnt held good in the years since. Dean had been brought up in that discipline. He was really going to have to do something about this new attitude. But first the kid.

He pulled out all the folded items, ensuring that he would be able to return them without the kid being aware. Not that he really gave a crap, but if he did find something? His fingers were deft at searching each item, clothes, books and magazines. The slut sure loved to read. There was nothing. He picked the empty bag up in frustration ready to fling it at the wall then thought better of it.

The bottom had a hard inner strip to keep it flat. He pulled the cloth covered card out and finally found something. Turning the items over in his hands, he knew he had found the kid's personal possessions, the only things Dean had not bought for him. They were pathetically few.

All there was, was a birthday card that had obviously been ripped up at one time then carefully taped back together. Inside it said, 'To Danny, Happy Birthday, love Dad Mom and Ginny'. John wondered who had been responsible for tearing it up, and why?

There were two photographs. One was of a petite and neat woman holding a little girl with a young boy stood leaning into her side. The picture was old and worn but he recognised 'Sam' as the boy looking to be around seven or so. They were all smiling but it looked like it was alien to them.

The other photo was one of those that they took at school and cost you a fortune. He had always made sure Dean was 'sick' on school picture day. He recognised the kid again, this time about eleven sat, stiffly posed, next to a painfully thin girl. They were both pale.

John hazarded that the family was poor and that this picture had no doubt had been far too expensive for them but someone had loved the children enough to have bought it. The mother he surmised, the writing on the card was distinctly feminine. He guessed this pale girl was Ginny, undoubtedly a younger sister. Was she on the street somewhere, he wondered? He hoped for her sake she was not, but then again, something had made the boy leave.

He stopped the sympathy and got on with searching the pictures for clues. There was nothing else apart from the names on the card. No hint as to where the photos were taken or at which school. The only thing was the photographer's stamp on the reverse of the thing. A name of the company but no location. But at least it was a start.

Putting everything back as he had found it, he let his eyes search the bedroom a fresh and saw nothing else belonging to the boy. He left the room with thoughts of tracking the photographer down but, with only a name, there could be thousands of places that were home to the company. It would be an immense search but if there was one thing he could do, it was research.

He had only just gotten back to his own room when he heard light feet on the stairs as one of the boys ran up them and then the sound of a door slamming. More movement and it was his own door that was flung open and he turned to be confronted by a livid Dean.

He stopped once he was in his father's room. Dean had come up here to follow Sam but found himself stood staring at his father. The man looked rough, no doubt due to the numerous bottles he had seen the night before. He wanted to hit him, his fists formed at his sides but he wanted answers first. "Why? Why couldn't you leave him the fuck alone? Do you hate me that much?" He wanted to scream but his voice was remarkably calm, frosting in fact.

John had been preparing for a fight, preparing for his son to launch at him, fists flying. He felt the smirk that was on his face be wiped away at the words. He was truly shocked. "Why the hell would you say that? I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I love you, Son. I always have."

"Then why?" Dean was almost on the verge of tears now, he knew John loved him, in his own way. "Why could you not just ..leave…him…alone?"

"Because you need to get rid of him. He's no good, Dean. No good for you. He's just using you. Why can't you see that? You can't keep him." Dean remained looking at him, so he continued, "Just think, Son. Think of all those men that have fucked him, just think of all the..."

"I don't care about them. Are we any different? Can you name even half of the women you've had. I can't."

"It's not the same and you know it!" indignant that he should be compared to a fuck for hire. "And, Son. Think. He's only a kid. Is he even legal? You're fucking a child!"

Dean had spent many an agonising moment thinking the same thing. In a couple of years the age difference would be nothing and Sam wanted to be with him. He was convinced of it. "He's old enough!" he spat back, "As if you ever bothered about asking their age."

John felt like roaring, but instead he tried once more, "Dean, he's a kid who knows nothing but how to hustle and he's hustling you. He doesn't want anything but an easy ride. He's found his '_daddy_' and will leave as soon as he finds someone with a bit more cash. Why can't you see he's no good for you? He's just using you."

"And that gives you the right to use him?" he ask incredulously.

John just gave him a filthy look. He was not going to justify his actions.

"Then why? Why can't you just leave him the fuck alone? I love him." Dean stood up straighter. "Is that it? I love him and you can't stand that. You can't stand that there is someone other than you that I care about? Oh, you bastard!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I would love nothing more than for you to be happy. To find someone. But … not… him!"

Dean was nodding his head, he understood now. He could see it on his father's face. His father did love him but… "You're lying. It's because of what I did isn't it? You can't have _your_ Sammy because of what I did to him, so you won't let me have this one. You're punishing me by hurting him, by trying to drive him away."

"Damn it, Dean! When will you realise? You did _not_ kill your brother. It was the fire. It was that _thing_ that killed our Sammy. Not you. _Please_, Dean. When will you believe that?"

"Because it's not true! I killed him!" the old pain resurfacing as he was already so raw.

"That's enough!" John pulled his hand back and slapped Dean hard across the face, regretting it immediately.

"Yes. It is." Straightening up, holding his head high and turning on his bare heel, Dean walked from the room, his cheek smarting. Guess he stood a chance of having a bruise to match his Sam's now.

John was fuming that his son had just turned his back on him. He wanted to go after him and pound the sense that was clearly missing into him, but that would just make him run away faster. "Dean, please," he called after him, his voice steady, with no anger but just a hint of pleading. "Let me explain. Talk to me."

Dean stopped, his head down considering. He had wanted answers so to continue to walk now would be foolish. He swung back around, his head still dropped and glared up at the older man. "So talk." Last chance.

What the hell could he say to make Dean forget what he had done to the kid, if not forgive, not to mention taking a hand to him. "Son, you need to able to focus. You need to…"

Dean turned his back. He had heard all this before and was in no mood to listen again. He had damage control to contend with. He had to deal with Sammy, the one who had been damaged, the one who was the victim here.

"Fine!" John called and waited until he was sure Dean was listening. "I want him gone. You know why. I've told you before. I will _not_ apologise for anything I've done. I will _not_ apologise for trying to keep you safe by eliminating any threats to you that I come across. You won't be told by me. You refuse to be guided by me. Well fine.

"Keep the whore if you must. But make damn sure you tell him just what he's in for. You tell him just what it is that we really do. And you keep him out of my way."

Dean snorted, "So he was in your way? That why you couldn't keep you prick out of his mouth?"

"And you damn well better stow that attitude. I _have _had _enough!_ You know the life we live. You know what's at stake. You just want to forget that? You want to turn your back on your dead family? On your mother? Your baby brother?"

"Don't you try that on me!" swinging back around, raising his handing and pointing an accusing finger, "Don't think that you can guilt me into doing what you want, what you say just because you say it. I know what we have to do. I know what _I_ have to do. But he _is_ coming with us!"

"So there still is an us then?" he asked quietly.

Silence then, "Yes." Another moment and Dean was leaving once more.

John ran his hand up through his hair then stood relieved. "If you're insisting that we do this, make him part of the family, then its time we take him on a hunt. Show him what we really do."

Now was not the time to continue the argument with his son. Dean was obviously adamant about keeping the kid. He had told him he even wanted to set up a home and let him go to school for crying out loud. Well, if money and rape would not get rid of him then maybe the simple truth would. And you never know, he might not need to worry about him after a hunt, whichever way it turned out. People could easily get hurt.

Dean looked pale but had to agree. He could not go on lying to Sam about their life. So he agreed on this one condition, "Then we need to find somewhere to live. I promised him, Dad."

John did not intend to have that problem after the hunt. The whore would be gone, one way or another.

"But I tell you this," Dean told him making him jump, "If you ever touch him again, I _will_ deal with you. I will chose him over you. Don't believe that blood equals love."

John was not convinced that that would ever happen. He knew how Dean idolised him. Even this recent rebellion did not cover the fact that Dean still looked up to him. He would not be so angry if he did not.

He thought of the kid, the look in his eyes as he had held that gun, unwavering, pointed straight at his forehead. He let mild amusement enter his voice, "That's not a problem. He not tell you he pulled a gun on me?" He did not think that the whore had told Dean much of anything.

Dean hid his sudden smile. He did worry just what the man had done to get the Sammy he knew to do that but it made him smile just the same. "I want to leave this place. When we do, we forget we ever came here." He turned back to look at John who nodded.

"Agreed."

==000==

"Are you going to pull a gun on me too if I come near you?" He hoped that Sam could hear both the humour and respect in his voice.

Curled up in the corner of the bedroom where Dean had found him, he looked up searching the man's beautiful face trying to determine his fate, trying to find a clue as to whether it was over.

"I told him that if he tried anything like that again, you would not be the only one to pull a gun on him," and he grinned, casually walking closer to him. Sam stared at the offered hand and reaching up, let himself be pulled to his feet and into Dean's strong arms.

So had John told him everything? He did not think so as Dean was holding him now. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed into his neck but Dean just made shushing noises and held him firmly but not tight enough to hurt. Fuck! Sam loved this man so much.

"Come on," Dean told him, loosening his grip and wiping the tear stains from his cheeks. "Get your stuff together. We're leaving this place."

==000==

TBC...


	18. Chapter 18

Sam had never been so shit scared in his life. He was not just scared. He was terrified.

He could do nothing but stand there, the shotgun clutched tightly to his chest by hands almost too numb to feel it. He was backed into a dark corner of the room, just praying that the thing did not see him. Dean was stood in front of him, shielding him. The noise was horrendous, the shouting, the screaming, the gunfire so deafening in the small room. The bright flashes of light moments before the sound of the gun retort.

He just wanted to sink to his haunches and cover his head, but he was too frightened to move.

It was a ghost. A fucking ghost for fuck's sake. Sam just stared. Dean was yelling at him but he could not make out the words. The thing appeared right by Dean and Sam could not even scream a warning before Dean shot it. With salt shells for fuck's sake. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He had been warned, Dean had taken pains to explain to him slowly and succinctly what was to happen. That what they really hunted down were ghosts and spirits, poltergeists, werewolves, banshees, blood curses, vengeance spells and even imps. He had thought that he was joking with him, that he was teasing and pulling his leg. He had asked almost laughing, "Bet the tooth fairy's a bitch, huh?"

When you grew up in the world that 'Sammie' had, with the threat of pain or even death in each car he had entered, supernatural entities were somewhat redundant. Were there not enough evil people in the world without all this supernatural crap too? He really could have lived without knowing there were such things, that they existed.

Now he was being confronted by the truth of Dean Winchester's words. Of the man's world.

They were supposed to just keep the spirit occupied, keep it out of John's way as he dug up and 'salted and burned' the remains, whatever that meant. They had definitely attracted the things attention. It had screamed and shrieked at them. Each time Dean had shot the thing, it had just come back louder and angrier than before.

There was blood on Dean's face, on Sam's shoulder, both from the claws of the woman wailing at what life had done to her, or rather the way it had ended. He knew what had happened. He was the one that had done the research for them thinking that that was all it was, an interesting story to uncover. That he had quite enjoyed, but this?

She appeared again as Dean was turned, speaking to him, asking if he was okay. His eyes widened more as the gun was knocked from Dean's hands and he was thrown to hit the wall hard. Sam screamed as she moved to hover over Dean then went to attack the defenceless man, curled on the ground, his arms over his head and face just as Sam wanted to do.

He would never know which was louder, the apparition's wail, his own screams or the retort of the shotgun in his hands as it blasted, sending the spirit into thousands of specks of darkness. He moved running, more falling, to Dean's side as she appeared over them again and Sam fired once more but both barrels were empty. He thought he would die then and just registered Dean throwing himself on top of him, forcing him to the ground as he continued to stare. Suddenly the advancing figure burst into flames, burning up quickly and screaming out her last.

It took him a long time to realise that Dean was talking to him, was staring into his face as he peeled his fingers away from the gun.

Dean felt a relief so profound as Sam's frightened eyes finally came to focus on his face. Throwing the gun to the side, he stood, pulling the boy up and into his embrace. He held him close and Sam held him back. He latched onto him almost painfully as he shuddered, as he shook and sobbed into Dean's neck, his tears a dam breaking as did the shock. Dean just held him tight, rocking him from side to side gently.

This was his father's fault. He had told him that Sam was not ready, that he needed time to take in and understand what they had told him. He was so unprepared. The man was due another taste of his fist for this. "Come on, Sammy." Dean spoke into his ear, "Let me take you out of here."

Sam just gripped him tighter, his head dropping, his forehead pushing under his chin. "Come on. Lets go," and he stroked the boy's hair.

Sam was mumbling something into his chest. It took some effort but he managed to get him to let up on his hold. He tilted the tear stained face up, the boy's hands clutching at his shirt by his waist. "What was that? I can't understand you."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I…. Your father's right. I nearly got you killed!" A fresh bout of sobbing erupting from the distraught frame.

"Sammy? What are you talking about?"

"You wouldn't have gotten hurt if you weren't looking at me." It was true and they both knew it. "He said I would get you hurt. And I did. Dean…" pulling back and looking up at him, "I'm so sorry. But it won't happen again. I won't let it happen again."

He did not want to say this, but he had to. He loved Dean, loved him so much and could not see him hurt, could not be the cause and knew even now, stood here, that Dean would not give up this life, would not stop doing...this. "I'll leave. I'll stay out of your way. He's right, I have to go."

"The fuck you will!" and Dean grabbed up that face, so sad, so distraught and kissed him, holding him tightly against himself, practically lifting the thinner frame from the ground, from his feet. He kissed him, wanting him to understand everything he knew he did not have the words to say. That he could never explain.

Sam sobbed into the kiss. He could not contain the emotion as he understood. This kiss was passion and power and claiming and belonging and love. It was a kiss of affirmation. There was no lust involved, no foreplay, no sex, no grinding of the hips or burgeoning erections. It was a kiss of love and fealty. And it made Sam's heart expand and his lungs ache.

Once it was over, he just leant against Dean, holding him tightly once more, his body stretched up as he rested his chin on the older man's shoulder. "I love you, Dean," he told him again.

Dean answered earnestly, meaning every word, "And I love you, Sam. I will never let anything hurt you. I would face down all the horrors of hell if it meant keeping you safe, keeping you with me."

"Crap!" said Sam with a hitch in his voice.

Dean was stunned. He had just promised the boy his soul and he reacted like that? "What?" he asked pulling from the embrace.

Sam grinned up at him, wiping his eyes, "You just made me cry again. You're turning me into a girl!"

"Come on then," and he held his hand out until Sam placed his in it, "let's get out of here before we both turn into chicks," and laughed relieved at the break in tension. But he still had bad thoughts. Just where the fuck was his dad and just what the hell had he been thinking and saying to Sam when he was not around?

John leant back against the hood of the Impala and looked up impassively as he saw his son walk out of the house leading that damn whore by the hand. Dean stared straight into his eyes accusingly as if he knew what he had done. Either way it should have worked, the kid so traumatised he would run or too dead to care.

Dean threw the shotguns into the trunk then, opening the back door of the car, guided the boy inside but instead of taking his accustomed place, he climbed in beside him, slamming the door wordlessly.

John spat on the ground then climbed in himself, getting behind the steering wheel. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw his son's eyes blazing at him as he held the kid close. He turned over the ignition and gave in for now. "Guess we need to find a house then."

==000==

TBC...


	19. Chapter 19

Dean slammed the door to his and Sam's room right in his father's face. He was in no mood to listen to a single word the man had to say. He turned to stand looking at Sam, his eyes taking in everything as the boy returned the gaze just as intensely. He saw the dirty dishevelled clothes, the blood on his right shoulder soaking into his t-shirt. His face was puffy and swollen from the resent sobbing tears and his beautiful hair was full of dust.

Four desperate strides and he had his hand in that hair, that mouth open against his own and the slim body, so pliant and needy, all along the length of his. He was also in no mood to be gentle. He wanted, he needed. He was going to take.

Without warning, Dean found himself on his back across the bed with Sam sat straddled across his hips, his hands already on his chest under his shirts. The boy was instantly grinding on him as he assaulted and captured Dean's mouth, stealing his breath and his intention.

It was a fight. Clothes were ripped in their haste, boots and shoes flung to hit the far walls. Then Sam was beneath him, all hot and panting as he squirmed, pulling Dean down onto him, pushing up against him.

Dean barely managed to catch his breath, freeing his hand from the other's grip as he reached to retrieve and open the near empty bottle of lube from his duffle bag, just succeeding in slicking himself up before he was engulfed by limbs. Sam was pushing up against him, kissing, biting, sucking up the skin on any place he could find, that he could reach.

He could not, did not want to wait and sank into the welcoming body bucking up beneath him. Sam's head and shoulders threw back as he let out a pained grunt making Dean pause but then he was pulling at him, those large, gun sore hands pulling his buttocks tight, wanting him inside.

Sam wanted to be truly fucked. He had never wanted to be fucked so much before. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much but it also felt good as Dean destroyed the lingering sensation that his father's prick had left behind. He urged Dean on, kissing him, tasting the copper from the cut, reopened now, on his cheek, the blood smearing across his lips. He pushed up with his hips, with his ass as hard as he could. His nails were unconsciously digging into the flesh on Dean's perfect, fucking, glorious ass.

He pulled his knees up high, his feet flat against the bed by his lover's hips, giving himself even more leverage as he moved.

Responding to the frantic urging, Dean lifted himself up onto taut straight arms. Looking down into Sam's almost apprehensive face as he hissed at the nails digging into his butt. He pulled his hips back and snapped forwards again and again, pumping repeatedly the hardest he ever had into Sam's ass, into anyone. He used his weight, all of his strength centred on his prick as he rammed over and over again into the begging, shuddering body, his teeth clenching, his face a grimace as he wanted to yell out in an almost primal roar.

He stilled suddenly, buried deep to let out a pained gasp as Sam's nails left his ass to scratch long stripes up his back. Those long legs wrapped high and tight around him and he ducked down to place his open mouth on that place on Sam's neck that he knew he loved him to nuzzle, to kiss. He bit him, sucking up the skin hard causing the boy to laugh out and dig those fingers into his tense shoulders.

It was frenzied, rampant and almost bestial.

Dean collapsed onto his forearms pumping still, sucking at that neck now stretched out for him, knowing he would leave one hell of a hickie, a mark. But Sam was his, his and no one else's. He wanted everyone to know, everyone to see the proof that this fantastic boy, this perfect panting, begging creature, fucking up against him, belonged to him.

He let the skin go with an obscene popping sound and grabbed Sam's jaw, making him face him, look at him. He stared down into lust filled eyes, thrusting into him as deep and as hard as he could in time to his words, "Mine, Sammy. You're mine. No one else's…mine!"

Sam could not believe the friction in his arse. Dean's prick was rubbing a grove into him over and over in the same spot, stretching the wall that was already tender. It was almost brutal.

He had been taken harshly before. Had been pounded and shafted and brutalised but it had never felt like this. It hurt somewhat, yes. He would be sore and aching after this but now it felt so good. He felt so alive. He wanted this feeling never to end, knowing that right now, in this instant that he was Dean's obsession, his whole world. He gazed back up adoringly into the blazing green eyes and simply replied, "Yes."

Dean came shuddering out his seed deep into Sam at the word, a groan wrenched from his soul, sounding painful as it passed his lips as he continued to move his hips, Sam's feet and arms still pulling at him in their frantic rhythm.

Then he had to pause, had to be still and experienced for the first time a taste of the strength that this youth would command as he grew to manhood as he suddenly found himself flipped onto his back, staring up surprised as Sam, still impaled, grinned lasciviously down at him.

Sam moved his hips, straddled across the muscled toned body, letting his eyes take in their fill, his face, his whole demeanour one of pure abandon as he rode Dean's prick. The concentration on his face as he moved his pelvis forwards and back, up and down wanting the prick to continue rubbing him, to get it as far inside him as he could.

Dean, hardening once more at the actions, lifted his knees and Sam used his hands on them behind him for balance as he moved frantically, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood with his efforts. Swallowing hard, Dean feared the kid was going to break his prick, if that was even possible. He grabbed hold of Sam's neglected weeping one as it slapped against the flat youthful belly. He pumped it in time to the boy's movement knowing what was wrong with him, why he had turned into this wanton insatiable thing.

Sam had been frightened, scared almost to death. They had both been close to being badly hurt, if not killed. This was the human way. The response, wanting to prove life, wanting to fuck and do it desperately, angrily, all consuming in defiance of death. This was life.

He understood. He had fucked many a woman into the mattress after a hunt but even he was amazed at the vigour of this shinning youth. But then he did not realise, did not know that this was the time, the moment when Sam was letting it all go. He was putting an end to the fear, the hatred. He was drawing a line under it all. Nothing mattered anymore other than Dean and him, together, here, now and in the future.

The fist pumping his prick in time to his movement on him. Dean thrusting up into him, lifting them both from the bed. Sam wanted to scream out in sheer exultation. His whole being was centred on Dean's hand, on Dean's prick. He did not know he was making such a mewling noise, did not know that he did actually scream out as he felt Dean's cum fill him for a second time, as he felt his own leave his body to land on his lover's heaving chest.

Laughing, he collapsed down onto Dean, still refusing to release him from his clenching rectum. "Yes," he repeated, "Yours. Always yours. For as long as you want me…Want me, Dean!"

"I do…Fuck… Yes, Sammy. I do!"

==000==

It was quiet in here but that was the way Sam liked it. He looked up from the history text book he had bought at the second hand shop in the main street of where they now lived. He sat back, looking around the kitchen, a smile on his lips. It was nice. Out of date, the décor from the eighties but it was clean, now he had finished with it, bright and theirs.

Now, just five weeks after he had first set eyes on Dean, they had a home. It had just turned May and the afternoon sun was streaming through the window. He took a moment to watch as the shadows from the charm bells, Dean had nailed up outside, flickered on the wall. It made a pleasant tinkling noise. He knew that was not the reason it was there but he liked it anyway.

The house was peaceful. John had gone during the night and Sam had left Dean asleep in their bed. He was glad the man was gone. The tension between father and son had been hard and it had grown worse as the week wore on. Both men had become sullen and quiet, John spending each night with a bottle of whisky and Dean wanting to do nothing but curl up in bed holding Sam tight.

He did not want to do anything but just held him. Sam had thought it was him, that Dean was upset that he had been so, enthusiastic, when he had flipped them over and essentially taken control. He obviously had not liked that, no matter their words. He would know better now. He would wait for Dean as he had before. He would not try to take his 'authority' from him again.

He did not hate it that they did not fuck every night, every day as they had been before the cabin. He could do with the rest, but he was still worried that Dean would tire of him.

He looked up wondering if the man was ever going to get up. He had heard movement but now it was quiet again. He went back to his book but could not concentrate. He stood up and poured a cup of coffee, strong and black, just how Dean liked it in the morning, not that it was.

Carefully carrying the mug up the stairs, he gently pushed the door to their room open and peered around at the bed, softly calling his name. He had learnt not to make the man jump. Having a gun pointed at you by your lover as you try to creep up on him does nothing for the ego.

Dean did not answer but at least he was finally up. Sat on the bed, he appeared slumped, studying something on his lap that Sam could not see. Moving into the room, he walked to stand before him and saw that he was sat with that small blanket across his lap.

He dropped softly to the floor, kneeling in front of him. Putting down the mug, safely off to the side, he leant forwards looking up into Dean's face. He was sat there, head bowed looking so sad, stroking the blanket carefully. Sam was wary, he placed his hand on Dean's arm but he was careful to keep clear of the woollen fabric. There was no reaction, Dean was in another place.

"Tell me about him?"

"It's my fault," was all the answer he received.

There was no point telling him that that was not true, no point spouting useless words of denial, besides, as far as Sam knew, maybe it was. He did not know what had happened. In a soft voice he simple asked, "Why?"

Dean did not shrink from his touch, did not become angry at the question, he just started to speak, slowly at first but then louder as he saw it all again. "I woke up and my Dad was shouting. I got up and ran to him. He was in Sammy's room, my brother's room. He was shouting still and staring at the ceiling. I…I never really believed what I saw. It wasn't possible but it was. She was on the ceiling, my mom, she was on the ceiling. Then there was fire, so much fire. I just stared and then Dad was putting my brother in my arms and told me to run.

"I held him, in my arms, so tight. He was wrapped in this blanket and I held him so tight. I ran. I ran as fast as I could and got outside. Dad came later. He put his arms around us and carried us away from the house. There were sirens and flashing lights and I held him, kept holding him safe. I held him so tight. He was so small and…"

Tears were running down his cheeks and Sam wanted to kiss them away but now Dean was talking about this he did not interrupt. He knelt back, shock on his face. This is what he had seen, this is what he had dreamt about. But that had just been a dream surely?

He also had the impression that talking about this was new to Dean. He was lost in the memory. "I killed him. I held him too tight. The man took him from my arms. I didn't want to let go. They took him in the ambulance. They dropped this. Dropped his blanket on the ground. My mom stitched this blanket and they just dropped it on the ground.

"Dad stood and stared, gripping my hand in his so tight. It was just hanging by his side as we stood there and stared as the ambulance pulled away. He held my hand so tight, nothing else, just held it so tight it hurt."

He ran a hand over his face, through his hair. He smiled sadly. "He never let go. He held my hand for hours. I remember looking up at him. He was so silent with tears running down his cheeks.

"He wanted us to go in the ambulance with Sammy but the police wanted to talk to him. That was the last time I saw my brother. They shut the doors on the ambulance and I never saw him again.

"It was my fault. I killed him."

Sam realised that this was why John had left. The man would have his own grief. But also Sam somehow knew that the man would not be able to face his remaining son. Would not be able to deal with his pain too, especially if he too believed that his youngest son had been alive as he handed him to his eldest.

He did not think that Dean had ever had the chance to tell this to anyone before. This was not a well rehearsed or oft repeated story. This was raw.

"He was a baby. He needed me to protect him and I didn't." There was a long silence. "He should have been sixteen today. Practically an adult. It's my fault. All my fault."

Sam said nothing, he just pushed himself up from the floor and moved to sit behind the man who's heart was breaking afresh and encircled him in his arms, laying his cheek on the back of his head. Dean began to shudder, sob at the contact, a hand coming up to hold onto Sam's arm. He just pulled him closer, cradling him as Dean had done so many times for him, and held him, kissing his hair, his temple as he shook.

As the man quietly continued to cry in his arms, Sam began to think furiously. Why had he seen the exact same thing as he had touched the blanket? Was it just coincidence seeing the evidence of obvious smoke damage on the thing? That was too simple and too improbable. Maybe…no…but maybe he was psychic or something? Maybe he had seen what had happened because the fabric held such emotion and grief? He had heard of such things but had always dismissed them as foolishness but, considering the things he had seen recently, maybe it was not such a ridiculous idea.

But the name. Why was it the same name that he had been drawn to? That he had put down to nothing more than coincidence?

Tomorrow he was going to go to the town library and look up anything he could find about visions and dreams. There had to be an explanation as to why he saw what he did. Why the image of that woman's face, of Dean's mother, would not leave him alone.

Dean took in a steadying breath. He actually felt relieved. Finally he had been able to tell someone what he had done. His father had never let him talk about it. Whenever they had spoken about what had happened it was always in relation to finding out just what had murdered their family, never what they felt or what Dean had done. The very rare times he had mentioned it, John had shut him up saying it was the bastard's fault, whatever it was, not Dean's.

He scrubbed at his face and became truly conscious of this Sammy, kneeling on the bed behind him, cradling, holding him but saying nothing. He rubbed at his arm saying, "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you hear that." The arms just tightened around him and there was a kiss to his cheek and he smiled sadly.

He rolled the blanket up thinking it was time he stopped doing this. Every year he did the same thing, sat frozen in place, becoming maudlin, touching the old blanket then got drunk. It was not even the anniversary of his brother's death. Today was the anniversary of his birth. He could not bare to think about how both he and his Dad dealt with that date.

Wanting to change the subject, he asked wondering, not for the first time, "When's your birthday?" He was amazed he had never asked before. That Billy kid had mentioned something but he could not remember.

"That was months ago." Sam did not want Dean to realise that he had lied to him. Well, he amended, that had been Billy. He had always told people that Sammie was older than he was and that he himself was younger. He did not really blame him. He knew it had been hard for his friend. On the streets, men wanted them young and if he could occasionally get them interested in him and not Sammie it had not made him mad. Sammie had had plenty enough still wanting him.

But he thought that if Dean knew he was still actually only fifteen, and would be for another for six months, he would not like it. He had been reluctant enough and still beat himself up that he was having a sexual relationship with a sixteen year old but at least sixteen was legal, mostly.

"Your coffee's getting cold. Do you want me to get you another?" releasing his grip and leaving the bed.

Dean caught his wrist, "No. Stay." He pulled him close to stand beside him and put his arm around his waist. He pushed his face into Sam's side and breathed him in.

Sam ran his hand into the short hair and cradled the face and shoulders close. He breathed out and his heart seemed to skip a beat. He loved this man so much and hated that such a bad thing had happened to him. He wanted to make it all okay somehow. So he stood, just doing his best to be there, just be there for him, while he still let him.

"So?" Dean asked as he pulled his face back from Sam but remained in the embrace, both of his own arms now around the slim hips, "When is it?"

"Why does it matter?" annoyed that his avoidance had not worked.

"So I can help you celebrate," and he looked up at him, grinning, "So I'll know when to get you a present, obviously."

Sam bit his lip, making Dean's eyes darken slightly. He ran his hand over the side of the beautiful, if tear swollen, face. "You don't need to buy me anything." But it was so wonderful that he would want to.

"Yes I do. And I want to know, I want to know everything about you."

Sam shook his head, "No you don't. Trust me you don't" and he put his fingers to Dean's mouth telling him not to speak. "All you need to know about me is that my life was shit until you found me." Smiling at the look, he added, "And I don't care if that makes me sound like a chick."

Dean stood, moving from Sam's arms and, carefully and respectfully, returned the rolled up blanket to the top drawer of the set in the bedroom he had chosen to keep the memory in and turned to look at the youth. He took a step forwards, lifting his arms and Sam walked into them.

==000==

TBC...


	20. Chapter 20

"So? You said sumat about a reward?"

John Winchester had taken an instant dislike to the obviously bitter woman. In her early sixties, she looked a decade older at least and just about ready for a grave. The nicotine yellow of her remaining teeth was only overshadowed by the two, almost orange, fingers on her right hand, hovering before her mouth, the smoke causing her eyes to squint.

He would have been loath to sit on the stained, possibly flea ridden sofa, even if the option had been offered. He stood just inside the door to the bungalow and considered that he had eradicated spirits in abandoned and dilapidated houses cleaner than this. He breathed in through his mouth, determined to ignore just what he was taking in, but he could not bare the smell. Old cooking, un-emptied trash bins and the total purveyance of nicotine and cigarette smoke.

Even with his distaste for the boy whore, he felt a pang of sympathy if Dean's fuck toy had been brought up in this place, with this woman. He was here to discover the kid's origins. He did not really care overly much but if his son was going to insist that he became part of their everyday life, he wanted to know everything he could about him.

It had taken him a while and a lot of hard work to track down this address. Starting from the stamp on the back of that photo, he had managed to find three possibilities but after a large phone bill and hours of frustration they had all come to nothing. Then, of all things, he had seen the envelope that Sam had not manage to hide quickly enough from him as he entered the kitchen.

He remembered the look of horror on the boy's face as Dean had called for him, sweeping through the kitchen and, not taking no for an answer, had dragged him from the room and the house. The address had not been complete but at least he had had enough to find himself here.

The coincidences did not bare thinking about. Just the mere fact that he was back here in Lawrence was causing havoc with his insides. And the boy's apparent age too. It just brought the grief back and he had to know. Had to put a stop to the what ifs that had been circling around the back of his mind. He had to know. To put that small ridiculous questions to rest.

And that this crone should sit here, eagerly waiting for what she wanted to hear. To hear of reward money. He suspected that she had in part driven her family from her. She disgusted him.

"Yes, Ma'am. If I can authenticate the boy's identity, my client is willing to give a substantial remittance to any one proving helpful to the investigation."

She nodded rapidly. "So what's he done?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to say. All I can tell you," as if he was in a conspiracy with her, making it clear he believed the boy had done something wrong, "is that I need to verify the boy's identity either as who he is, or…who he is not."

She nodded again, this time trying to appear sage. Lighting another cigarette from the butt of the last, she told him with certainty, "I always knew that brat was nothing but trouble. Destroyed my family he did. I have to take two buses, the train then another bus to get to my boy thanks to that little bastard. My boy dint do nothin' that bitch dint deserve. It was lies. Nothin' but lies. The fuckin' lyin' bastard!" and she stared off, possibly into the past at the version she recalled, one that John did not find hard to believe would be different to the truth.

"And why was that ma'am? What did the boy do? What did he lie about?" knowing not to accuse the kid's father, this woman's precious son, of any wrong doing if she was not to clam up on him.

"Told you. Bastard lied. Told the cops it was my boy, my son, that was which killed his whore slut of a mother. Could have been anyone. Always dressin' up in her fancy clothes. Always thinking she were good enough. Not for my boy. I told him, but he wouldn't listen. Listened to that prick of his though. Only married her cause he was a respectful boy, stood up to his responsibilities. Knew the child would need a father. I still don't believe that kid is from my blood. Din't look like anyone of us." Now she was really warming up to her theme.

"Think my boy knew it too. Soon as she was back from the hospital with the brat. Big it was. Never seen a new baby that big before. How it came out of that skinny slut I don't know. S'pous they must of feed it well at the hospital."

John had so many questions he wanted to ask but thought better just to let her chain smoke and ramble on.

"Kept it in for a month. Sumat wrong with it's lungs. Never stopped the thing from screaming it's guts out once they brought it home. Anyone would think we were torturin' the kid. Setting fire to it. Every time I lit a match it would start screamin' the house down. Never did find out why. Soon stopped after Jonas used to, well, my son had a way with the kid. Got it to shut up."

John went cold.

"That bitch sort of loved it though. Give her that. She was useless as a mother. Always cryin', sayin' it won't her kid. Whose the fuck else's would it be? Post… Party…um… Depression, they said. My ass. It was that kid. It would lie there and just stare at you. Never laughed like normal babies. Just lay there starin'. Stopped cryin' after it learnt it were no use.

"No. It were that baby. Born evil, I reckon. Grew up into an evil lyin' no good little bastard too. Good riddance to it."

The blood was pounding inside John's head. It was ridiculous. There was no way what he was thinking could be true. It was ludicrous. But if Daniel Watson's own grandmother called him an 'it', no wonder he had run away and changed his name. But it was all too preposterous to even credit the idea.

Just because that waitress had mistaken Sam for his son did not make it true. He needed more before his imagination led him places he did not want to go. DNA test results would be conclusive but whatever the result, he knew Dean would not give the kid up. He needed to know as much as he could. "When was Danny born, Mrs Wilson?"

"It was cold. I remember that. December of eighty... three. No, no. That was when my boy brought the brat home. November. November the fourth, no, the third. That was it," looking pleased with herself for actually remembering.

John's stomach heaved. The room was claustrophobic and he had to get out of there. He loosened the tie at his throat and fought the impulse to faint. It was beyond belief but he felt like he was going to pass out. "Could I get a glass of water, Ma'am?" he needed time, needed to think what to do.

"Sure," waving the cigarette towards the arch to the kitchen not bothering to move, not caring that the man looked to be ill.

John stumbled to the sink searching for a clean glass, settling for a cracked mug on the drainer.

The whore was his _son_! He closed his eyes. No. It was not possible. It was just a coincidence. Had to be. Please let it be. But he knew, somehow he knew it was true. His hand shook as it rubbed over his face.

How the fuck had his son ended up in this hell hole? What the hell had happened between him being taken from Dean's arms into the ambulance and him being shown the small pathetic body he could barely look at through his grief and tears?

Someone had stolen his son from him and the life he should have had from Sammy. He needed to go see the 'father'. He prayed there would be glass between them at the prison or he would kill the bastard. He slowly got himself under control. Sammy. The life the boy had led. It broke his heart. That such things had happened to him.

He bent double as his stomach rebelled once again at the realisation. He had raped his own son! Repeatedly. And Dean. What about Dean? He was in love with the boy. He was in love with his own _brother_!

No. No. It was all mistake. He would go to the jail and find out the truth. Find out that the boy was not his lost child. He was just some poor bastard who life had fucked with. Somehow though, he would make amends for treating him like that, just like all those other freaks he had had to bend over for. He would make it right for him, for both him and his son, for Dean. Somehow he would give them the life they deserved. To be happy. Somehow.

"You okay in there?" called from the couch.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thankyou. I'll just be a minute." Standing straight, he caught sight of the eyes staring at him from around a door barely opened. "Hello?" he smile, speaking quietly to the young girl. "I bet you're Ginny, aren't you? Danny's sister?"

The door opened fractionally more to reveal a skinny girl looking much younger than the stated thirteen years belonging to Danny Watson's sister. She was nothing like all those pubescent teens at the mall, hair and makeup and the latest fashion. She was small and scared looking.

She glanced around furtively then up at him, something like hope tearing her eyes, "You know Danny?" spoken in a whisper.

He nodded but said nothing. He did not know what to say to her.

Very quietly she asked, "Doesn't he like me anymore?"

"Why do you ask that?" knowing the boy must love his sister, the worn, well hidden photo proved that. "Didn't you get the letter he sent you last week?" That was how he had found out about this family after all. The address written on the envelope that Sam had not hidden well enough from his prying eyes.

She shook her head but then looked up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes, "Has he come back for me? He promised."

Looking down at her, it was times like this that John Winchester knew that there was no God. How could there be when little girls were so scared that they were waiting on a promise from an abused boy who ran a way from home to a better life on the streets as a hooker?

"I'm sorry, honey. Not today. But I'll come back and bring him with me soon. Can you wait a little longer? Will you be alright?" But would he be leaving her to a fate as bad as Sam's?

"You get away from her! Princess, go back inside. Shut your door." And the woman swung around to face up to John. "Get away from her, no one touches my angel!" and looking at her, seeing the venom and fury on her face, John believed it.

There was a commotion coming from the front room. "Ma? You in?" and a hulking blond staggered into the kitchen. John could smell the sweat and beer as soon as the bearded man entered. The figure came up short seeing him.

He was big but John knew he would be an inconvenience, not a problem. He was not drunk but not far from it but he seemed curious more than angry at his presence. "Who you?"

"He's here to find out about that brat nephew of yours," the old seeming woman answered for him.

"Ah!" and a kind of glint appeared in his eye. "Know him do ya? Is he finally coming home?"

John shook his head but before he could say anything the woman interrupted again. "I'll not have that bastard under this roof."

"Now, Ma. You know the only one responsible for Jonas been in jail is 'imself."

"You shut your mouth. Don't you speak of your brother like that." And with that she stormed off back to the living room and John heard the mumbling invective then, "And you can fuck off if'in you're here to help the bastard," as she returned pointing at John with a glass of rum in her hand.

"No, Ma'am. As I said, I'm making inquiries for an interested party. The information you have already given me will be useful, but if you could see your way...?"

"I told you enough. Now you pay me and if'in I ever catch you looking at my angel again, I'll do for ya'. You understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

John fished out his wallet as he made to leave, wanting out of this place. He would have to go and see this Jonas person and somehow get the truth from him. He pulled out his cash and counted out one hundred dollars, thinking that was way more than enough. He noticed the other man watching him with interest and, as he moved through to the front door, dropping the money by a bottle of Morgan's, he noticed, Rum, the man followed saying, "Wait up there."

Once outside, the other shut the door behind them and John breathed in the fresh air thankfully. He turned his regard to the other who was stood as if debating something. He just turned and moved to the street, knowing the man would follow. He obviously had more to say.

"So?" the man said casually, "You interested in little Ginny?"

Anger flared behind John's eyes but he held it in and turned to the man, raising his brows and asked, "And if I am?"

"Well, maybe I can help with that," and looked at him in mock conspiracy as if he had found a kindred spirit.

"Yeah?" with not too much interest but with enough.

"Yeah. Lets say we go get out of here and talk about it."

John looked around as if thinking, "Sure. You know somewhere out of the way? Somewhere where no one knows you?"

The man looked at him knowingly, wagging a finger at him, "Good thinking. Yeah, there's a roadhouse about twenty miles out of town, up on the highway. They don't know anyone if you get me meanin'?"

"Get in," was the only response and John climbed behind the wheel of the 'borrowed' truck and pulled from the curb.

==000==

Sat by the side of the road, John had the truck parked far enough along the street not to be noticed but close enough to see the unfolding events. It had been remarkably swift. Lawrence was, on the whole, a law abiding town and things like this were not welcome here. Once they were discovered of course. It was unbelievable what could happen behind respectable white picket fences. This was not a respectable looking house but much had happened both known and not.

Yesterday a man had been found drunk, beaten and drowned in a road side ditch. A call had been placed to the appropriate authorities with just the right amount of suspicion about the safety of a teenage girl and as the two proved to be connected, the wheels actually turned swiftly.

He watched as the too quite girl was led from the house. She did not look back even at the screaming harpy begging them not to take her Angel away. Was not it enough that some bastard had killed her son. Why was this happening to her?

John turned over the ignition and pulled away, heading slowly past. As he drew level with the car holding the girl, she looked up and he nodded at her. She did not smile but she gave a slight nod in return then looked down quickly as the woman from child services got in beside her.

He drove away. He would head 'home' soon. That was what Dean wanted the house they were renting to be, a home. He would try. He would somehow try to mend all the hurt the boy, Sam, his boy, had suffered. He knew it was impossible, but he would try. But first he had to make sure that the girl was safe.

==000==

Four days and over two thousand miles later, John let himself in the back door of the house leading into the kitchen. Sam was sat in his accustomed place at the table, books open in front of him, pen poised over paper as he looked up at the intrusion.

Moving to the refrigerator, John got himself a beer and leaning against the now closed door, announced, "Daniel. You're Uncle's dead. Your sister, Jennifer, has been taken into foster care and I told her you would be there to see her next week."

Sam's shocked wide eyes followed John as he calmly walked from room.

==000==

TBC…

* * *

A/N

I apologise for the speech pattern. I have no clue as to what a 'common' Lawrence, Kansas accent sounds like but I wanted her to appear 'whitetrash'. That's the term? So I hope you indulged me.


	21. Chapter 21

The Principle looked at the rough appearing man and the teenager, seeing an obvious resemblance. He perused the paperwork again, genuinely curious as to the circumstances of having the two nervous seeming people in his office. There was no doubt an interesting story here but it did not mean he would give the youngster a place just to find out.

"I see that, Samuel," glancing at the form again, "has missed a fair amount of school?"

"Sam," the teenager corrected him but the principle was used to teenage belligerence. He continued to address the adult present. "And the reason for this?" He looked up assured that it was his business no matter the scowl from the teenager.

"He's my nephew," said as if that excused John from any culpability in the missing education. "Had some…problems," spoken in an aside to the man as if it was a conspiracy, "my brother has fallen onto hard times and is finding life…difficult. So, Sam has come to live with us for a while. He's missed a year or so but you'll find him smart and I can assure you he will work hard." He turned to look at the silent teenager as if this was a continuation of a previous argument.

The principle considered then put down his pen. "It's May now, nearly June and close to the end of the school year. I would advise that you wait until the start of the next year to enrol him and he stay back a grade." He turned a pleasant face to the teenager to gage the reaction.

The lad shrank into himself. If the kid would prove to be trouble, he would have expected an outburst by now, a denial that he should be put with the younger kids but this one just looked resigned and actually a little eager. This young man wanted to be here. That was refreshing. Again he wondered what his story was.

"That's why we came now. I'm anxious for the boy, for my nephew, to start as soon as possible and catch up. Maybe if he were to be enrolled now he could attend summer school? As I say, he is smart and I'm sure with hard work he could get caught up by the beginning of the next school year."

If John manage do this for Sam, persuade the man to let him start now, it would be something good he could do for the kid, for his son. He knew the boy wanted this, knew the boy desperately wanted to resume High School but was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

Picking up his pen again and tapping it against his lips, Principle McGowan considered. He came to a decision. "We will set up a couple of test papers which Sam will sit next week. Depending on his scores, we shall decide if it is to be summer school or next year. Agreed?" he looked to both adult and teen.

John turned to look at Sam and could see the excitement in his eyes. That was another trait he did not share with his brother. Dean had not had much interest in High School. Who was he kidding, the boy had only turned up to work his way through the female population. It had been both a surprise and a moment of pride when he had actually graduated.

Sam nodded and John turned back to the Principle showing his consent.

"Okay then. Just a few blanks to fill in. So you are now the legal guardian, Mr Winchester?"

John just nodded thinking his voice would become thick if he spoke.

"And date of birth?"

"November third, nineteen eighty..." Sam answered, astonished as John spoke over him.

"May second, nineteen eighty three," he said with finality, carefully watching the shocked look on the youngster's face.

Mr McGowan looked from one to the other and, in true adult style, took the word of the other grown up in the room. Yes, he decided, he would definitely be rooting out the history to this family.

Standing, he reached over a hand to John as he took the hint to stand. Shaking the highly calloused hand, he confirmed, "Then we shall see Sam next week." And he turned to shake the young man's hand noticing the reluctance but eventually the boy acquiesced.

Leaving the office and walking back to the Impala, Sam rubbed his hand on his jeans. It was not that there appeared to be anything wrong with the man but he was not used to touching men other than as prelude to sex. He could not even remember the last time it had happened.

He studied John from the corner of his eye. He just could not understand the man. What was that about his birthday? They had decided, before entering the school, that he was to become a cousin so that he would have the Winchester name, matching the ID Dean had gotten for him.

Dean had given him Halloween for a birthday as all he would tell him was 'it was months ago'. He had looked up at him as he handed the cards over and read the name. The look on Dean's face had been wonderful, full of pride and mischief. "You can tell people we're married" he had laughed and so had Sam. He had had a thought to call him Mrs Winchester but Dean had beaten him to it by saying, "And I don't need to tell you who the man of the house is here," making a dramatic show of pulling up his pants. That had made Sam truly laugh.

But somehow, looking at the card, the fake ID that made Sam eighteen, it had just sounded right. He could not explain it, along with so many other thoughts and feelings when it came to Dean. But it was, 'right'.

He had been doing some research of his own. He had looked into finding out the source of his dreams, reading all there was on visions and dreams and that in turn had led him onto repressed memories, which he had found interesting but irrelevant. Much as his reading on those repressed memories had then led him into the field of amazing adoption stories and how people had reunited after years of separation, being drawn to each other without knowing why, without knowing that they were indeed related.

He had carried on reading about the subject, Genetic Attraction it was called, as he had been trying desperately to explain these 'connected' feelings he had for Dean. But it had just been idle curiosity in the end. He knew who he was, knew exactly where he had come from.

There was just him and his sister now. Damn, it had been good to see her. He had felt awkward, thinking she would not remember him, or worse, would hate him for leaving her behind. They had looked at each other and Sam had sank to his knees. Shyly, his sister had moved to him and then whispered into his ear, "Are we safe now?" He had held onto her, kneeling on the floor of her foster home, for so long.

Sliding onto the bench seat next to John, he said softly and meaning it, "Thankyou."

John sat back, taking his hand from the keys in the ignition. He had wanted to tell the boy the truth for what felt like months but he had only discovered it himself on that first trip to Lawrence, three weeks ago. "That's okay, Son."

Sam looked up at him sharply. That was not the first time he had called him that this last week and it was freaking him out. The man hated him and had not been slow in showing it until that trip to Kansas last week. Since, in fact, he had appeared in the kitchen and called him by his real name. The man had then avoided him until he had taken him, and Dean of course, to see Ginny. Since then his attitude had altered.

For some reason, he did not look at him in disgust anymore, if he looked at him at all. He seemed actually to be nervous around him and on the verge of saying something. Sam had tried not to dwell on it but he was always so conscious of his presence and his attitude towards him. He had to be. He had learnt his lesson.

But now he had to know. The curiosity would just burn him up and he could not ask Dean, could not cause him that hurt. "Why did you alter my birthday?"

John stared at his hands in his lap. He had dreaded this moment but had to tell the kid the truth. He owed it to him. He had not known how to broach the subject, not with their history and every time that he had gone over it in his head, he ended up sounding like something from that Star Wars movie that he had taken Dean to see not long before, before...

"I didn't," and could not bring himself to say more.

Sam continued to study the man, a look of ridicule on his own face at the absurdity but he saw the bowed head and John looked so much older than his years. "My birthday is in November."

"No, no, its not. That was just the date you were… taken from us."

Sam flopped back in the seat making a noise to show how ridiculous the man was being. And cruel. What if Dean ever heard any of this crap?

"Your uncle… Lukas. He told me everything. The night he died. The night he tried to sell me your sister." He heard the gasp from the boy beside him. There, he had said it. Well, some of it. He did not know the kid well enough to come out and say for a fact that he had killed the man, he did not know what his reaction would be. He knew that the relationship between abused and abuser was never clear cut. He did not know if Sam would praise or turn him in to the authorities for his actions.

But as the large man had sat there, beer in hand and had told him in great detail just how sweet his nephew had been, how young and pliant with those big hazel eyes staring up at him and that he just knew the sister would be as good for John, he had been overcome with such a vehemence as he had never encountered before. He had been angry many a time, hell, the boy bedside him had suffered from such a rage and that was no doubt what made it all the worse. The man he had been plying with alcohol was not so different for himself. They were both bastards. And this poor boy had suffered at both their hands.

He had not meant to do it, to kill the man, but one more punch and the sodden blond had fallen from the road into the ditch. John had walked away letting the drunken bastard sleep it off in the gully. Instead he had drowned.

"I'm sorry, Son. But Jennifer is not your sister, she.."

"Yes, she is." Sam had never been so adamant about anything in his life.

"No Sammy, you…"

"Don't you ever call me that. 'Sammie' was a poor kid who had to sell his ass on the street to survive. I'm Sam now, Sam Winchester, because that's who Dean wants me to be and he's the only one that gets to call me Sammy, and I don't want to know anything else you have to say." Finished he turned his head away and watched the wind lightly ruffle the flag outside of the entrance to the school.

"But you have to know. You have to realise who you really are. I have to tell you…"

"No. It's lies," anger finally entering his voice where there had been coldness before. "Its just another attempt to get me to leave. You're gonna tell me things that you think will make me run. But I won't."

"No. Damn it, boy! I'm telling you the truth." He grabbed hold of the lad's arm as he opened the door to leave. "Please, Sam. Please, just listen to me."

Sam sank back once more. He did not believe a word but guessed he might as well get it over with. The man did not look set to quit until he had had his say and, he had done him a favour today. Two if he counted his uncle. That had been a shock and Sam still did not know what he should feel about it. If nothing else, he owed this man for helping Ginny. The couple she was with now seemed nice and he had overheard John 'talking' to them. They would keep her safe and untouched.

He ripped his arm from the encircling hand and sat with his arms crossed, staring off out of the window, looking for all the world like any other teenager that had just left the principles office with an angry parent.

So John told him, told him all he had learnt about the night that he had lost Mary, how he had seen her burn on the ceiling of Sam's nursery. How Sam had been taken from Dean's arms into the ambulance and they had not seen him alive again. How that pathetic body, he had been told was his son, was not but was the body of the baby born to Maddie and Jonas Wilson, born the same night in the hospital in Lawrence, Kansas.

The real Daniel had died only a couple of hours into his life and Jonas and his brother, Lukas, had come up with the idea of swapping the dead baby with another one. Jonas had beaten his wife causing her to go into labour on the night that Lawrence had suffered, not only a house fire, but also a gas explosion in a supermarket warehouse and a multi vehicle pile up on the near by freeway.

With all the causalities in the hospital and the ensuing chaos and shortness of staff, it had been easy for the brothers to sneak into the nursery area and swap the baby boys. They knew their mother would never let them hear the end of it if the kid had died. All she had talked about was having grandkids and carrying on the family name.

Sam felt sick at the thought of how things had turned out, at the hatred he had listened to everyday from that woman once she got going on the subject of 'ungrateful brats'. And it was all a crime, had all been meant for child that had mercifully died and not had to suffer as he had. For a brief moment, Sam hated that dead child. But there was more to it than that. Something much more important.

"So it's true then?"

"Yes, Son."

"I'm Dean's brother?

"Yes." Head down, John closed his eyes. What the hell was he going to say to him? 'Oh by the way, Dean, you know that boy you've been...'

"The dreams, they aren't psychic visions?" Sam asked laughing without humour at his preposterous ideas, "They're memories?" He thought he would go insane if he could not stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside of him now. The whole thing was just so...farcical.

"What dreams?"

"Fire. A woman's sad face. What you said...Yellow eyes staring at me." He shuddered violently at this, the first time he had spoken of the images out loud.

John had not mentioned anything about the figure he had seen, the spectre with the glowing golden eyes. If he had harboured any doubts, that would have quelled them but the paternity test had been damn conclusive. He remembered hearing the shout from the bathroom asking Dean if he had seen Sam's toothbrush. "How long have you had these...dreams?"

"Not long," not really wanting to talk to this man about it, but who else could he tell? Not Dean. "The first time was when I held that baby blanket Dean keeps hidden."

'He must do', John thought, as he knew nothing about it. Now he could tell that Sam believed him, he moved on to what he really wanted him to know. "I'm so sorry, Son. If I'd known you were my son, I would never have...treated you that way, would never have..."

Sam swung around on the seat to fix him with a stare that froze John down to his core. "John," he stated clearly, "I was always _somebody's_ son."

John could not hold his gaze and looked off through the windscreen. The other thing he had been worrying over came to his tongue. "What about Dean? We have to tell him."

"No!" fear and outrage all together. "He must never know. He loves me. It would kill him if he found out."

"But he blames himself for your death!"

"And what do you think he'll blame himself for if he finds out he's been fucking his younger brother?" There was no room for softening the subject.

"You need to stop. Now you know the truth, you must make it stop."

"No."

"But he's your _brother_!" pleading entering his voice.

"And I was your son!"

"Its not the same and you know it."

"Yes, yes I do. Dean loves me. Dean is _in love_ with me. You? You just punished me."

"Damn it!" hitting the steering wheel. "I _am_ so sorry." And John Winchester hid his head in his hands as he rocked forwards, grief, anger and guilt causing tears to leave his eyes.

Sam just placidly looked off again, this time watching as kids, laughing and joshing, poured out from the doors of the High School he was soon to attend.

==000==

TBC...


	22. Chapter 22

"I hate that you got hurt again." Sam ran his fingers gently over Dean's neck and onto a shoulder. The bruise was livid, showing where the joint had been dislocated, not for the first time he had been told. He looked into the loving eyes as they watched him.

"Would you…would you ever consider stopping? Couldn't you do something else?" He guessed he already knew the answer after nearly a year, but he just hated that this kind, loving, beautiful man was repeatedly getting injured. That he could get killed on any 'mission'.

"No," the answer was simple and spoken quietly. Sam nodded his head and let his fingers move over to his lover's chest. He watched as the nipple responded to his attention and dipped down to lick and nuzzle at the small nub.

Dean stretched, his chest moving up into the heat and he just luxuriated in the warmth of the bed, the feel of his lover sat by his side and the attentions he was softly giving him. He adored these moments, when the passion had been spent, the bodies wild and thrusting and now they were tender with each other. His hand lazily played with Sam's hair, his head twisting on the pillows so he could watch the boy's mouth at play.

But Sam was not finished. "I hate it that you get hurt so much," reiterating the sentiment, hoping that Dean would truly listen to him, that he would care that Sam felt this way.

"Its not that bad. I've had worse." Dean did not want to talk about this. It was a hazard of the job, the bruises, knocks, scrapes and occasional broken bones were inevitable. It was not as if he enjoyed the pain. You just dealt with it and moved on.

"That doesn't make it better. I wish you weren't in harms way so much. I wish I could do more to protect you." He rose up looking into the questioning green eyes. He did not know how to say what he really wanted.

Dean's head twisted to hold the eye contact. "You already help with that. The research you do helps. Thanks to you, I know what to do and," smiling sheepishly, "what not to do. And you're there, watching my back. I know you don't like this, Sammy. But its what I do. Its what we do." He was sure that the boy was hinting at something but was also sure that he would never come out and just tell him. Sam did not demand.

"What is it? What d'you want to say to me?" He ran his hand down to hold the side of his face and turned it to look at him as he had turned to hide it at the question. He was not surprised when the eyes did not come up to meet his again.

Sam wanted to tell Dean to stop this life. To take the job he had at the garage seriously and not just treat it as a hobby when he was in town. He wanted him here, safe with him, not chasing through dark woodlands and haunted houses. Basically Sam wanted the impossible. He wanted Dean to become a different person. But then if he got his wish, if Dean did become the regular guy with the regular job, would he still love him so much, would he still be drawn to him? Of course he would but he knew realistically that the Dean that he was in bed with now, the one he loved so much that it made his insides ache with it, would wither and die within.

"I don't like the bruises," was all he would say, adding as an afterthought, "You're ugly enough already."

"Is that so?" Dean asked with a lifting of the brow and a smirk to his lips.

Sam just nodded, trying to keep the smile off his face as he successfully diverted away from the foolish conversation he had brought up. He may be comfortable enough now to joke with the man his brother was but still he knew he had to be careful to not become complaining or demanding. To Dean he was still just the boy he had picked up along the way.

Then he found himself on his back, looking up in happy surprise as Dean loomed over him.

"So I guess I'm too ugly for you to kiss?"

Sam nodded, a look of comic horror on his face. Dean forced him down to the bed as his mouth devoured him, so passionate and needy, hidden under the playful words. Breaking back for air he then stated, "Guess I'm too ugly for you to open those soft but firm thighs for me?"

Sam nodded again, falling easily into the rhythm of the game. Dean did not do it often, he did not use dirty language or call him names as they fucked, always seeming to prefer to meet Sam as a partner whilst still obviously being the one in control. But Sam could adapt quickly and went with this. He knew there would not be anything harsh or distasteful. Dean was just being playful. He was amazed as he felt the man's growing prick against his leg. They had been fucking and making love since they had gotten back to the motel the day before. Yet again so soon that prick, slick against his thigh was ready and greedy for him.

Dean used his own legs to push between Sam's reluctant seeming ones then, laying on him more, used his hands to force the legs apart, all the time staring into those warm hazel eyes. He knew Sam was pretending, and he would never force him against his will but he kind of liked the idea that Sam was succumbing to him and not just immediately spreading his legs, opening up.

The boy had always been 'easy', though he did not like the word, but Sam had always been willing and 'compliant', that was a better term. He had never turned him down, told him he was tired or that he did not want to. He was a teenage boy after all but just sometimes, Dean wished he was a little less, accommodating.

But right now he did not give a shit as he forced those legs wide and he surged up to take those swollen parted lips once more. Pulling up slightly, breathing onto the open gasping mouth, Dean pushed his prick inside the still acquiescent body as quickly as the flesh allowed.

Sam used his arms to not only pull Dean down against himself but as something to anchor to as the rhythm Dean set became a little harsher and frantic. There was a grunt as Dean placed too much weight on his injured shoulder and Sam shifted slightly to accommodate as the man listed more to his uninjured side. He was aware enough to want to tell him to change position, so as not to hurt himself but he bit his lips.

He found his mind wondering as Dean continued to push into him, finding his rhythm in the altered, less painful position. He had that book report to finish and was way behind on his reading for the test on American History on Tuesday. He had the book with him so hopefully he could get the five chapters read and remembered on the long trip back.

Reading was fine in the back of the Impala but he found writing a chore as he always had to rewrite everything once he was still, especially as they spent most of the time driving on the smaller, less well cared for roads. John's driving and speed did not take these factors into account. To him all roads seemed to have the same, high, speed limit.

Suddenly Sam was back in the bed, shocked that had not been present and that his body was merely responding mechanically to the use of it. Dean collapsed down onto him, breathing heavily into his neck. Sam was stunned and trepidatsous. Not only that his mind had drifted, that he had not been caught up in his lover's actions as he always was, but had Dean noticed?

That was it, that was the last time, the last of his strength. It never ceased to amaze Dean just how many times he could, 'get it up' when with Sam. With no one else had he ever been able to literally make love all night long. He had never wanted to. But now, slipping from the, admittedly, well used and slick channel, Dean flung himself back, breathing hard and barely managed to keep his eyes open.

He lifted his good arm high and Sam immediately curled his body into his side, his leg crossing over Dean's. He pulled him close, kissing the top of his head and thinking vaguely, trying to remember if the boy had cum, slept.

Sam pulled the covers over them. They were slick with sweat and they both desperately need showers but he would not have moved for the world. These were the moments he loved most of all. With Dean satisfied and sated, falling asleep just before him, he could wallow in the feel of the man's body safe and secure beside him, under him as he shifted more to be three quarters on him. He listened to his steady breathing as Dean succumbed to deep slumber and, relaxing himself, he followed.

He just hoped that his 'lack of interest' had been due to the frequency and passion already spent over the previous day and night. With his arse aching and tender, his muscles heavy and tired he determine that upon waking, he should give Dean's inevitable 'morning' erection all the attention he could, and just maybe, he could get the man interested in his.

==000==

TBC...


	23. Chapter 23

Dean sat watching as the High School's main entrance disgorged the yelling, jostling mass of Kids. He did not always come to pick Sam up, but he had been away for three days and had missed him. The beds were always so empty and cold when the lad did not come with him, even though he and his father had had little down time on this hunt. They could have done with Sammy's help but the boy had had exams that were important to him and Dean had always ensured that 'the Hunt' was not the most important thing in the boy's life.

After what seemed an age, finally he saw the tall brunette exit the doors, holding them open for a slight blonde girl who even Dean could tell was way behind in the fashion stakes. Judging from the amount of books she carried as well as the heavy looking backpack, he guessed she had more important things to think about. His 'cousin' for a start.

His eyes narrowed to slits and a burgeoning jealousy began churning in the pit of his stomach, then he relaxed, smiling to himself as Sam appeared almost oblivious to the attentions of the female that was hanging onto his every word. It was obvious to all, save the besotted teen herself, that Sam did not seem interested in her other than as a friend. Nodding and smiling, his face scrunched up at something she was saying, then cleared into a laugh as she explained.

She may have eyes only for the tall thin frame dwarfing her but Sam's eyes immediately sort out and settled on the car, on him. The boy's face lit up at Dean's grin and, speaking quickly to the girl, he turned away and skipped down the steps completely unaware of the heartache that he had left in his wake.

Dean turned over the engine as his love headed towards him but Sam's progress was halted as a boy approached him. About the same age but shorter and stockier, Dean saw Sam's smile alter and grow. The jealousy instantly flared once more, this time hot and anxious. Sam was not oblivious to this teenager. He could tell by the tilt of his hips as he stood waiting for the brown haired youth to approach. The way his hand rose up to smooth and tuck his hair behind his ear.

As he watched this interloper stand a fraction too close to his Sammy, Dean's hands tightened around the steering wheel, his face setting into harsh lines. The boy touched Sam's arm speaking to him, then smiling, moved away at his answer.

Dean followed him with daggers in his eyes. Sam was his, no one else's.

As Sam got into the car, startling him from thoughts of violence, Dean kept his peace and resentment hidden. He asked about the girl, laughing at the mix up that had had Sam so confused and then he casually mentioned the boy.

"Who's the girl with all the books, that looks at you as if you're made of honey?" pulling the car around the corner and heading home.

"What?" laughing, turning to look at Dean, wanting to lean over and kiss him. He moved just a little closer on the bench, hoping that Dean would want him to.

"She's got it bad for you, Sammy." He could understand why. Sam was growing into a fine looking boy, his beauty and delicateness maturing into more classically male planes and contours.

"No…You think so?.. No, that's just Suzie." Laughing he added, "Thought for a moment she wanted me to hang her parents."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much what I said. Turns out, her parents are away and she wants some of us to go 'hang out' this weekend." Sam looked out of the passenger window making light of it. Actually he was quite excited and pleased. No one had ever wanted him to do that before. It was nice, normal.

"What about that kid, the one with the glasses?"

Sam, unaware that anything was wrong, told him, smiling, "Oh that's Scott. He's a friend from Math Club. So's Suzie."

There was a pause then he added quietly, "He invited me to go with him to a party on Friday night. So did Suzie, its at Suzie's," he added quickly. Sam looked at his hands. He really wanted to go but Dean had only just gotten back, and Dean was not invited.

"What did you say?" still managing to keep the churning in his belly from reaching his voice.

"I said I didn't know. That I would have to check at home. Dean? May I go?" turning his face up to look at him.

"Its not up to me. You're your own person. You know that." Dean should remember that too but that just made it worse. Sam had never gone anywhere like this without him. He had never gone out with friends, or to parties. At any bar, club or even movie house, he had always had Dean at his side. He should be glad the boy had friends but he could still see the way that kid had touched his arm, the way Sam had stood wanting it. The way Sam had reciprocated, leaning in and whispering into his ear as his own hand came up to touch the boy on the hip.

"If you don't want me to go, I wont," watching him intensely. He had never been made to feel that he was a possession. Dean owned him it was true but only because he gave himself gladly. He was nervous, detecting a slight awkwardness about the atmosphere in the car.

"Its not what I want, its whether you want to go or not." That was true but inside his mind was screaming, 'No. Don't go. Don't leave me.' He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was just a party. A dorky teenage girl's party.

Sam's head dropped again, he was unsure what that meant. Would Dean be angry if he went, or did he truly means his words? Or worse, did he not even care?

Dean was desperately keeping his feelings in check. He did not want Sam to go, especially as he was invited by that boy that had looked at Sam as if he wanted him to fuck him, would die if he did not. He knew he had no right to say 'yes' or 'no' to Sam, it was the boy's own decision but he could not help the noxious jealousy from brewing inside. The boy, Scott, was cute in that geek sort of way and they both knew now, Sam was on the geeky side. They were both mathletes for fuck's sake.

There was no reply and Dean drove the rest of the way in silence.

Once they had gotten to the house, Dean let him do his home work without saying another word. He was too wound up to kiss him, to take him in his arms and drag him up to their room where he had fully intended to reacquaint himself with every inch of the still growing body.

Sam could feel the tension, feel it in the way that Dean left, actually stalked from the kitchen. He wondered if he should go after him, say he was sorry and of course he would not go to the party. But it was just a party. A real one at the house of one of his team mates.

It would be a simple affair, no real drinking and if there was dancing it would be awkward as all the people invited were of the studious kind. There would be no jocks, no cheerleaders or so called popular people. It would just be the math club and maybe a few of the science geeks sitting around pretending for an evening that they too had parties and maybe friends who were cool enough to drink.

He knew it would be like that because Suzie had warned him about it whilst still trying to get him to come. Scott had asked if he would go with him and maybe, 'if Sam thought it was too much of a drag, they could maybe…er… go somewhere else.. erm.. together?'. He smiled as he remembered the blush on the boy's face.

The only parties Sammie had ever been too before were the kind where he and a couple of others were the 'entertainment'. Where he had been a party favour passed from one drunken, sweating man to another.

He wanted to go to Suzie's party. Maybe if he asked Dean to drop him off and pick him up at a none too late hour he would not be so angry. He could tell he did not like the idea. Maybe he should not have said anything and just found an excuse to go. But he did not like lying to his brother. Just that in itself was one lie big enough to negate the room for others.

"Sam? You finished with the books yet?"

He looked up at the shout coming from the top of the stairs. He had hardly started but he rose and, with a smile on his face, moved to the bottom of the flight, looking up at Dean who was stood in nothing more than jeans and boots on the landing.

Damn, but the man looked so fucking hot. He took his time mounting the flight, pulling his shirt off, then his t-shirt over his head so by the time he reached the man, he too wore nothing but jeans and his pumps. Then Dean's hand was in his hair, holding the back of his head, his other surrounding his back and those lips he loved so much were mashing into his, the tongue invading his mouth before he could catch his breath.

Dean may be a couple of inches shorter than him now but he was still surprisingly strong. He found himself lifted onto tiptoes, a hand grasping him hard between his buttocks and he was swung around and forced into their room to be flung down onto the bed.

Sprawling on the spread, he looked up uncertainly at Dean who stood glaring down at him, a mixture of lust and anger on his face making Sammy catch his breath. As the older man undid the buttons on his jeans and slowly pulled his fly apart, Sam was reminded of his, their father.

He sat up thinking to go to him, to kneel down and open his mouth on that already leaking and attentive prick that was standing proud as Dean just stood and breathed. As Sam struggled to sit up, Dean pushed him back with a harsh hand in the centre of his chest. Then his pumps were pulled off one at a time, Dean lifting each foot, his actions hurried and rough whilst constantly staring at him as if challenging Sammy to say something, to do something to stop him.

Next, hands grasped his jeans waistband as Dean towered over him and the fabric was ripped down his legs, Sam lifting his hips aiding in the removal as the still fastened waistband hurt enough as it was forced over his hips and thighs.

He knew now, he should never have mentioned the party, nevermind asked if he could go. He had been stupid, relaxing into this life with Dean and to an extent John. He had felt safe, cared for and equal. Now he was to be reminded that he was not.

Naked, spread out in the position the striping had left him in, he looked up at Dean, just waiting for the sourness. It had taken its time, but here it was.

Dean's face was fixed as he looked down, his eyes raking over Sam's body. 'Mine, you're mine,' kept running through his mind. That flat tight belly, mine, that narrow waist, the pale skin over the burgeoning muscled chest, mine. His prick was painful, still caught in the tight denim, so he reached in a hand and released himself, all the time eating up the sight laid out before him. He could not get enough of that sight, the body lying there stiffly, almost trembling, waiting on him.

How long, how long did he have before Sammy left him? How long before he moved on to other arms, to that kid Scott or another of his own age? Someone who did not know where he came from, did not know who, what he had been?

He sensed his time was running out. He was going to lose him. After everything. The thought made him angry, made him scared. He realised he was even now wasting what time he had left, stood there slowly rubbing his own prick when Sam was there, open and waiting for him.

He let his eyes wander downwards, squinting slightly as he registered the lack of response from the other's prick but then let the thought go as he had a vision of grabbing that raised knee, of placing his other hand on the opposing thigh and flinging them apart, of grasping the flesh tight and pulling Sam's body up and onto his prick.

Sam's eyes widened in trepidation as Dean lunged forwards, knocking his legs apart and covered him, his mouth latching onto the side of his throat. He gasped out at the bite, no slow loving nibble, no soft sucking up of skin to make Sam weak. Dean bit him, his lips then causing suction and Sam knew that he was being branded. Dean was marking his territory.

He groaned out at the handling, a startled pained grunt as Dean's prick forced its way inside of him, his hands holding his legs high and wide and down to the bed. Then Dean was pounding into him.

This was the first time he had ever been this rough, this uncaring of him. The older man had been passionate, had been rampant and ardent before but had never been so uncaring. Sam could not deny it hurt. There were tears in his eyes but from the pain in his savagely forced open arsehole or from his heart he did not know. He gritted his teeth as Dean continued to suck on his neck. He twisted his head trying to force the other off him. His hands on Dean's shoulders, he began pushing at him, begging him. "Please, Dean. Please.." spoken so quietly.

Letting go of his grip on that neck, Dean stilled his thrusting and moved to capture that mouth, that lush, beautiful, begging mouth. He shifted, letting go of the thighs, sliding his hands along and pulled those gloriously long legs up and high onto his back, the change allowing him to settle inside that little bit deeper, Sammy truly opening up for him. He was tight and it felt so damn fantastic to push into the heat again and again, harder and harder, Sam held there and taking him.

The new position helped with the strain on Sam's joints but there was blood in his mouth from Dean's, his own blood he knew from the sucked wound on his neck. Then Dean began to move in him again, still strong, still brutal.

Sam was angry but mostly he was saddened by it. He could do nothing, could not complain, especially as he was conscious of Dean being angry and he knew why, what he had done. He had mistakenly placed his hand on Scott's hip as he had said goodbye. Dean had seen and this was, if not punishment, this was Dean needing to let him know he had seen, that he knew what Sam had been thinking and was ensuring that now Sam knew. Knew that he was still his, knew that he would not stand for any betrayal, any unfaithfulness.

Each grunt from the man was like a command. You will not have anyone but me, you will belong to me. Sam let the tears fall even as the man he loved kissed him so ardently. Sam did not need a lesson like this, he had always known that.

He was aware that Scott liked him and had been trying to pluck up the courage to ask him out for nearly two months now. If he had not had Dean, he would have let the boy fuck him by now because he thought that he was nice and he was becoming a friend, the first one that he had ever had really other than Billy. Also he sort of felt sorry for him. He could tell, the youngster had never been with anyone, Sam was not convinced he had even kissed anyone.

And, Scott knew nothing about his previous life, so he had intended to go to the party and kiss the boy, or rather let him kiss him. He would not have sex with him, he would never be unfaithful to his brother but he thought he liked him enough to ensure that the boy's first kiss was a good one. After all, he and the girl were his only friends. Everyone else thought he was a freak or, as with most of the female attention, wanted him to introduce him to his 'cousin'. But of course he would not, Dean was his and he was Dean's.

And that was all he wanted.

Sam's nails were digging into his back and Dean reared up, licking his lips which were wet and slick, swollen, just as were his lover's as he looked down at him. Sammy's face was red and tear stained and Dean's forehead wrinkled in consternation. But he could not stop moving, his prick slid almost out of the burning cocoon of Sam's arse and he snapped back in, a grunt coming from the figure beneath him as he moved against the bed with the pressure. Dean smiled and he did it again, then again.

"Sam.." he breathed out and the boy turned his head, opening his eyes to look up at him and Dean came, surprised at the suddenness, knowing it was the look in those hazel, almost golden, eyes. Shuddering, he moved still, wanting this feeling to never end, him inside of his Sam, his prick pumping into him, those eyes staring at him. Then he had to leave, slip from the hotness and he collapsed down breathing hard but he could not be still and began kissing the hot almost fevered, cheek.

Letting his body go as limp as possible, Sam felt a sweet sorrow as Dean kissed his face so tenderly, in such contrast to the way that he had just taken him. His right hand came up to cover the back of the short haired head, his fingers stroking the dark blond locks as Dean repeatedly said his name between kisses, such want, love and need in the two syllables, "Sam..my.."

Sam's body was so beautiful. He had always thought that and now, with the bloom of heat and the tang of his sweat soaked skin, he had to taste, moving away from the face and neck and onto his chest. He licked at the nub of a nipple and then had to suck the flesh besides it. He worked his way across the torso and back, then down, his tongue pushing into the neat navel, then he moved onto his goal, his prize. That dark line of hair he had always enjoyed toying with.

Sam's hips rose up as Dean treated his belly to that worship he gave it so often. He had always loved this fetish of his older brother's, this play and attention that the full succulent lips gave to that thin, dark line of hair. He would kiss, nuzzle and lightly tug at the sparse hairs. He would catch them between his lips and pull, twist his tongue through and around them.

His belly rose up into the heat of that mouth, his hands now by his head as he stretched almost like a cat enjoying its belly being rubbed. He looked down at the top of his lover's head, hoping he would not dawdle over long and move down to his prick which now finally showed its interest, as this was turning Sammy on so much.

Twisting his face so he could continue with his ministrations whilst that long prick of Sam's rested up against his cheek leaving a trail of precum, Dean licked a long stripe from the root of that risen column to the small tight navel. Turning his head once more, hearing the moan as Sam's sensitive hood rasped against his hair, he opened his mouth and sucked up the flesh, the pressure growing in response to the groans coming from the writhing figure.

How many times had this happened to Sammy now? That he was enjoying himself, that he was so turned on only to get pain. The mouth was harsh now on his belly and he knew he would be left bruised and stained, just as his neck must be. This kink of Dean's, that he usually met with such fervour, was also turning harsh and cruel. It hurt, the skin so unused to this kind of abrasive attention.

The intense suction stopped but then the bites began. All along that line of hair, Dean bit him hard enough to leave indentations. No soft sucking to erase the pain, no slavering tongue to smooth. Just bite after bite followed by that harsh sucking, drawing the blood to the surface. He could not get enough of the taste, of Sam's taut shivering, twitching belly under his tongue, in his mouth.

Sammy's hands were pushing at his head and he left one final bite in the hairs right above the almost trembling prick then took the hint and, pulling back, took that prick right into his throat. Sam lurched up from the bed, forcing it deeper and Dean went to work on it, his hand coming up then surround the root of the thing, as he used suction and squeezing and friction and heat to bring the boy off, shooting his load violently deep into his throat.

Practically screaming, his head thrown back with his mouth open and gasping, tears leaked afresh from Sam's tightly closed eyes. He had come so hard but it hurt him, not just the pleasure pain of a near violent blowjob but that he had come at all to the almost savage handling. Then he found himself flipped onto his front, his face hitting the pillow before he could get his breath and his hips were drawn back. He sobbed out, out of breath and out of fear. Dean was really going to 'take' him now. The hands holding him, the fingers spread bruisingly on his hips told him so.

Right then, Sam knew that Dean was his father's son.

The sounds that Sam had been making had gone directly to Dean's prick, making it strain against his stomach, leaving tails of precum to match those that the boy had left on the side of his face. He needed him to know then, to know just how much he turned him on, just how much his very presence, his passion excited him. How it drove him to distraction and that all he could think about was his Sammy, holding, loving, fucking _his_ Sammy.

He pushed back into him, his face a grimace as he found he wanted to cum straight away. The heat, the constriction, the groan coming from Sam's throat as his body twisted, shuddering under him. The friction, the feel if those hip bones under his hands. He flexed his fingers, gaining an even firmer grip as Sam moved, pushing himself up onto hands and knees and Dean used the momentum to pull his beautiful lover back onto his prick.

Sam's arms threatened to give out on him as he let his head drop, breathing deeply, willing the burn in his arse to recede, praying that Dean would give him time before he resumed what he hazarded was to be another powerful pounding. No one was ever gentle, no one ever made love in this position. This was a position of raw sex, of fucking and of dominance and submission.

This form of sex gave no quarter. There was no ambiguity as to who was in charge, who was in dominance and who was 'the fucked'. Dean had taken him from behind many a time, had fucked him passionately but never like this. There were so many things, so many sexual things that they had never done together and Sam had never taught Dean anything.

He had always let the older man be the one to decide what he wanted to do, let him explore and discover. There were many other things he could have shown him, some good, some not so good. But it was always up to Dean.

So this was nothing. This was far the most aggressive Dean had ever been with him but it was nothing compared to what men could and had done to him. But as he held on, his teeth gritted and his eyes tightly closed, he felt a sadness that his brother, his lover, the man that professed to be in love with him, would want to possibly hurt him. Would want to use him like this.

And all because he had wanted to go to a damn party.

==000==

TBC...


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N**... I read your reviews, I hear you, (smile and thankyou. they are always appreciated). Yes, we are in a 'dark' patch, but please remember the name of the story. (wink)

and, looking at the stats for this story, i'm worried that quite a few people seem to have missed reading chapter19. i posted two chapters that day, not my usual one. if you have, its got some 'lurvin' in it and ...plot!

Cheers! and thankyou to you for reading.

love The Catt

* * *

"You fucked him didn't you?" Dean spat out half in accusation but the other half made up of hurt, disbelief and fear. "You let that bastard have you even though you know you're mine. How the fuck could you?"

"As if you really care what I do as long as I'm there for you to use whenever you feel like it." It was not true, Sammy knew that, Dean did care, he loved him but the had also hurt him. So damn much. He could still feel the sting on his neck, the dull aching throb of his abused asshole causing the bile to rise up in his belly and the hateful words to flow from his lips.

Dean had hurt him, not so much physically, although that had been decidedly unpleasant for Sam but he had wounded what little pride he had. The pride he had been building slowly from the day this man had come along and rescued him and told him that he was worth something, that he was his own person.

Dean Winchester had told him, Sam Winchester, often enough that he should be proud of who he was, what he had achieved and what he had overcome and then he had gone and used him like the whore he had been and then repeated over and over that he thought of him as nothing more than a possession.

He knew he was twisting things in his head, was aware that that was not exactly what Dean had meant but, the way that his brother had been acting recently made Sam realise that deep down, it is what his brother thought. Dean had taken him from the street and believed that he belonged to him.

That was why, basically, he had done more than just kiss Scott. Why he had let the other teen lead him away from the party and had had sex with him. And it was sex even though there had not been any actual penetration going on. This was definitely the boy's first time and Sam had made it clear from the start, well after a good deal of kissing and hesitant touching, that they could not.

Sam had told his friend that he was already in a relationship and that he was not willing to jeopardise it. He liked Scott, sure he did, and he was not adverse to fooling around with him a little but he made sure that the boy knew that this was to be a one time thing, that he could not go all the way with him or see him alone like this again. Sam had a boyfriend, a lover, already and he was not willing to leave or cheat on him. Also, he really did like Scott. He was not prepared to toy with him.

And right now, the way Dean was so angry at him, immediately thinking that Sam would have done such a thing, the way he was way up close and 'all in his face' like some street pimp and his 'ho', Sam wanted to hurt him, wanted him to feel something close to the heartache his own organ was experiencing. He turned his face way, arms coming up and crossing over his chest.

A hand grabbed at his chin, forcing his head around but he refused to look at Dean, refused to see the anger in those green eyes he knew were blazing with something other than the love and desire he relished there.

"You're mine, Sammy."

"No. No I'm not. I belong to me," stepping back and knocking the hand away. "You've said it yourself often enough. And I can make my own choices. I can chose who I fuck and who I let fuck me. And for your information, not that its any of your fucking business, I did not let him fuck me."

He would have left it there, would have left it at the truth but for Dean's all knowing, nodding head, the slit accusing eyes. He could tell he did not believe him, did not want to believe him.

Dean was incensed. That the boy could so blatantly lie to him when he knew, he just knew. "How the hell can you stand there and lie to me like that? I'm not fucking blind. You were in that pool house with him. I saw you there. I saw you both leave!" righteous anger and indignation oozing from every pore.

"What?" scandalised and horrified. He had not realised Dean had been spying on him. He had thought he had just been laying in wait as he left Suzie's house. "You were watching me?" incredulous that Dean would do such a thing.

Of course he could not have been watching. Sam would have known, he would have been able to sense it from years of knowing just what interest he was garnering. And if Dean had of been watching, he would have known that he had done nothing more than let the boy jerk him off as he in turn brought him off too. That was nothing, hardly worth mentioning.

"Yes," Dean told him but his voice wavered a little. He may be able to lie his way into homes and girl's pink panties but he had never been able to lie to Sammy. Not convincingly.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Bastard!" he screamed at him, pushing him away. "Then you know don't you? You know just how I fucked him? How he was all moaning and panting, opening up his legs for me as I fucked into him," 'something you've never let me do!' Sam was losing it. He wanted Dean to hurt. Wanted to teach him a lesson but he was screaming at himself inside to stop, but he could not.

He saw the flash of pain on the older sibling's face and knew he had scored a hit. "Yes, Dean. He moaned and begged me for more and I gave it to him, I fucked him so hard, like _I know_ how to do and he'll never be able to forget me. And you know what?" pointing a finger at his seething brother, "I'm gonna do it again!"

He moved past Dean, wanting to be far away from here, wanting this night to be over and never to have happened. Wanting not to feel such shame, anger and hurt. It was over, he knew it was over. Dean would not what him any more after this.

"You fucking _bastard!_" and Dean grabbed hold of the retreating figure's shoulder, just as he looked ready to run and, swinging him around, punched him hard across the jaw. Sam staggered back, feeling like his face had exploded, those metaphorical stars swimming before his eyes. He tottered then fell back onto his ass, sitting there just staring up, dazed.

His mouth was filling with blood and he looked up at the figure towering over him. He used the back of his hand to rub across his mouth then looked at it in shock, the red so red, so startling in the street lamp light. Tears sprang to his eyes, blurring the image before him.

Dean swayed on his feet, his knuckles hurting way beyond what they should do. It was because he had hit Sam. That was why they were screaming at him. He had hit Sam! Something he had promised never to do. But it was that slap all over again. That slap he had dealt the boy that Sammy had been when he had just realised that he had had John Winchester's prick in his mouth. Now he had hit him again.

That time before, it had not been Sam's fault, he had had no control but not now. Now Sam had known exactly what he was doing. He had cheated on him, betrayed his love and adoration with some bespectacled school geek and he had fucked him. Sam had _fucked_ the boy! Something he had never shown an interest in doing to Dean.

He wanted to hit him again. He wanted to kick him where he sat on the dusty dry grass verge. He wanted him to have not done this. "You bastard," he forced out quietly one last time, then turned and fled to the safety and comfort of the Impala, something that had never let him down and left Sam sitting there, at the side of the road, in the dirt.

By the time Sam made it back to the house that had been his home now for the past year and a half, the car was there but there was no sign of Dean.

It was over three days before his brother came back.

==000==

TBC…


	25. Chapter 25

Leaning against the doorway, Dean watched Sam as he concentrated on his homework, something that would come to an end soon. Sammy was due to graduate from High School and Dean wondered how that had come around so fast. The boy he had found under that streetlamp had taken to the 'scholarly life' quickly and easily and he marvelled yet again at just what the former whore had made of himself in such a short time. At the young man he had become.

He was not the only one. He thought back fondly to a few months ago and the time they had spent at Bobby Singer's place while they attended Sammy's friend, Billy's wedding. That had actually been enjoyable. A simple affair with not just himself looking and feeling uncomfortable in a suit.

But to see the lad, hell, Billy was about the same age as himself, so nervously stand, waiting for his soon to be bride. The look of pure happiness on Sammy's face at his friend's good fortune and happiness. It had all felt so good, so 'right' and he had managed to pretend that he and Sam were okay, that they were happy together and would remain so.

He shifted were he stood slightly, not wanting Sam to realise he was watching him. What was to happen now? Would Sam become a full time hunter with them? Would they suddenly find themselves all living on the road again once Sam has finished with school? He was kind of looking forwards to it. The thought of Sam in those motels rooms with him, always so much more 'alive' after a hunt. They both were.

Maybe he could persuade his father to buy another vehicle and leave the Impala to him and Sam. The man was always complaining about the cramped conditions in the car, what with three grown men and all Sam's books.

He tilted his head, considering the way that the two most, the only two, important people in his life had somehow managed to settle into a, if not comfortable relationship, at least they did not riel each other up all the time. John no longer treated Sam as a piece of worthless shit and Sam seemed to actually be able to finally relax around the man.

He was glad. It had been hard at first, his father abusing his lover, his lover seemingly terrified of his father. It had mainly been in words but he was not as naive as either seemed to think. He had not been blind to the way Sam had flinched every time his father had gone near the boy in the months after they had first set up house here.

But now it was as if there was something different between them. Ever since John had discovered Sam's family, he had treated him differently. Just him calling him, 'Son' made Dean's brow furrow. It was almost as if, since he had discovered that Sammy, or rather Daniel, had also been born in Lawrence, his father had kind of 'adopted' him.

He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts and focused back on the quiet, studious figure. The latest bruise on his face was finally fading. He hated it that, whenever Sam joined them on a hunt, it always managed to leave a mark on him. He tried to keep him away from the actual 'fight' by having him concentrate on the research angle. The youth appeared to enjoy it, but inevitably he sometimes got hurt.

Sam had gotten much better over the last couple of years. He could be counted on not to shoot either Dean or his Dad now, and was beginning to truly hold his own. But although he never complained, never bitched about it, Dean knew that this life was not for Sam.

The boy was smart, really smart in the book sense and not just street smart. He was still on that of maths club team and he always had a book open near him, whether it be an American classic or an old Latin text. Dean was glad that he had found his place but it worried him too. Sam was certainly intelligent enough to go to college and if he did, instead of turning into a hunter, would he still find a place for Dean in his new life?

Looking at him now, he was no longer the young boy that he had picked up off the strip. Still young to him but he was growing. He was inches taller than him now and filling out into his height. He should have been on the football team but he had taken up soccer of all things. That was for little kids and girls, as he taunted him about it mercilessly.

He knew he had a smile on his face as he looked at the still figure. He watched, rocking forwards on his feet slightly as those long fingers of Sam's smoothed the hair behind an ear. That had always managed to arouse him. But Sam was oblivious, intent on his study, and he thought best to leave him to it.

Again Sam tucked the errant hair behind his ear, letting his fingers slowly trail down his neck. He could hardly breath. He knew Dean liked it when he did that simple gesture. He was watching from the corner of his eye, wanting Dean to come to him, to come and take him. It seemed an eternity since that had happened.

He remembered when all he had to do was tuck his hair and Dean's hands would be on him. Now, they had sex, never mind made love, less and less these last months. Sam had done all he could think of to be appealing. He often walked around with little or nothing on. He would bend and flex, trying to catch Dean's eye. Often he was sure he was causing an effect but as Dean moved, appearing flushed, he would awkwardly walk away or just turn his back on him.

Sam knew what it was. It was time. Time had caused the damage. Not in so much that they had become too used to each other, but something else. He had heard somewhere that, if you put a penny in a jar every time you made love in the first year of a relationship and took one out in the second and subsequent years, you would never empty the jar.

But here it was not familiarity that had slowed their sex life down, he knew it to be a different problem. The problem was that time had worked its inevitable magic on him. Sam had grown up.

When Dean had first found him on that street corner, he had been just a boy. He had been attracted to the young kid he had been. And it was just the same old, tired story. Dean had a type and he did not want him now that he was no longer that young, slim _boy_.

He did not think that Dean had truly realised this himself, still carrying on as of nothing had changed, nothing was wrong. Until Sam had decided he was old enough not to need permission to go to a party. That damn fucking party over five months ago. That had been the undoing, as it had opened Dean's eyes.

Standing here, Dean wanted nothing more than to go up behind the beautiful young man and place a kiss to the nape of his neck, exposed as Sam had his head tilted forwards over the book. But Dean had come to realise something. Sam had never, not even once, instigated sex between them. He had never said no or turned him away but he had never 'come' to him either.

He could not remember when he had first noticed it, being infatuated, no, being totally consumed by his passion for his lover, but it had slowly become apparent. Sam would smile at him and would always give himself willingly to Dean's touch and demands but they were just that, Dean's demands.

So he had left him alone, mainly to see if he was correct, and he was. Sam had never wanted him like he had wanted Sam. He had only 'let' Dean fuck him. He still found it hard to stomach. He had been convinced. The way Sam had melted under his touch, the way he had 'swooned' under his kisses. But it was all false. He had just let him have his body and told him what he wanted to hear.

His Dad had been right all along. The kid had just been using him, playing him. And now, Sam had everything he wanted. He had a roof over his head. Someone to keep him, to feed, clothe and support him. But still, no matter what Sam was here for, he would never regret taking him from that corner.

And then there had been Scott. Someone Sam had actually wanted.

How could he have done that? But then he knew, it had made him realise the truth. Sam did not feel the same way he did. And how had he himself reacted? He had punched him. Not asked him why or begged him never to do it again. Not asked him what he could do to make Sam happier. No. He had hit him then ran off into any woman's bed who would have him.

Dean felt that sadness creeping up his spine and wondered why he did this to himself, why he continued to live in this house, in this home as if Sam loved him too.

Sam sat back in his chair, throwing his pen down in frustration. He looked up at the now empty doorway where his brother had been. The last time they had had sex, in fact the only times they had sex now, was after a hunt. Dean would take him with a passion, but afterwards he would go quiet, would not kiss or even hold him, just turning his back and lying stiffly in the bed. It was as if he was ashamed. He would become absent, distant and it broke Sam's heart.

He wondered sometimes if Dean knew.

Maybe it would be best if he did go to college. He wanted to, but had thought he would miss Dean too much. That Dean would miss him. But that was before that night.

The night of that damn party. It had all gone wrong on the night of that stupid math club party. That had been the start of the end. He had lied to make Dean angry and jealous and to hurt him back a little. It had worked, all too well.

Dean had fled, leaving him sat on the ground and not come back for near four days. He had never asked him where he had been, nor had his brother volunteered the information. But Sam could guess. His brother had returned to the house and moved swiftly to, and locked himself in the bathroom for what felt like hours but not before both he and John could smell the alcohol, sex and perfume on him.

John had said nothing but slowly moved to place a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing gently. Sam had accepted the gesture then walked out to the back yard where he had hidden behind the old shed, knowing he could not be seen from the house, and wept.

Yet the man still treated him like they were a couple, still laughed, joked and stole food from his plate. But he did not touch him. Sam had thought to go up to him and demand an explanation, ask why he did not want him any more but of course he could not. It had all been ruined by that stupid lie.

Maybe he should do something now, make a move. Go find him and push his hand onto his prick or something, just to let him know he was still here, still available? But that one time that he had become the aggressor, after that first terrifying encounter with the 'unnatural', he had regretted it.

Dean had not touched him for days after that. He obviously had not liked that either, Sam taking control from him. It was something that Sam had never understood, how Dean constantly needed to be in control in the bedroom and in a different way on a hunt or in general life, always looking out for him, never giving him enough room to get hurt or into trouble, yet would instantly step back or down from one word or look from his father.

Sighing, he dropped his head to the table, his hands coming up to cover it. He had to face it, one thing he did understand clearly. The man his brother was now did not find him attractive anymore. Something he had feared from the moment he had agreed to leave with him. But he knew Dean well enough to know that he would not throw Sam out onto the street. He would just wait for him to leave and Sam thought that he must.

John had already helped him by getting broachers for various universities and then filling in all the forms for a free ride, a hard times scholarship for the place he had nominally chosen. He had promised to help in any way that he could. Sam did not want to leave Dean but he would have to make his mind up soon if he was to get in his acceptance on time.

If he did go, he would still love Dean, he would always love him. Sam would be eternally thankful to him for giving him a new life and a happy one at that, but it was just so heartbreaking that he did not desire, did not want him anymore.

And he also knew, that once he left, he would lose Dean completely. But then again, he already had.

==000==

TBC...


	26. Chapter 26

It was over a month since John had driven Sam to college. Dean had stayed behind and gotten drunk. He had rarely been sober since. Every night that they were not on the road, his eldest son had gone out to a bar and ended up between the legs of a different woman, whether it be in her bed or behind the building.

John had more or less left him to it thinking he would soon snap out of the behaviour and get on with the job of hunting, which he knew the lad loved. But it was going on for far too long. Dean had not helped him once on a single hunt. He just slept the sleep of a wino next to him, making the Impala stink.

John had done much to try and help him, ranging from listening to him whine and moan out his loss, to throwing water over him as he lay comatose on the floor. He found himself having as many arguments with him now that Sam had gone than he had when the boy had first appeared on the scene.

Now, Dean sat, bleary eyed, across from him at the motel room table. They had given the house up the day after John had returned from California. There was no longer a need for it and Dean was not the only one to feel the emptiness.

He had had enough. Dean was no use nor ornament to him or himself like this. "For fucksakes, Dean. If you miss him that much, go see him."

"He doesn't want me going near him. He left me," sounding so sorry for himself, petulant and maudlin.

Looking over at the man who had not, to his recollection, been remotely sober for at least four days, John opened his mouth to say something he never would have believed possible. He had wanted Sam to go away, much as he had from the moment he had laid eyes on the boy, but this time he wanted him to be somewhere safe. To be away from Dean.

They were brothers after all, even if one did not know it. They should not be fucking each other but now that they were apart, Dean was practically in a constant drunken stupor. Worse, in fact, than in the days before he had miraculously found Sam.

He took a deep breath and told his eldest son, "The boy loves you. He left because he thought you didn't want him any more. That you don't love him."

"Bullshit! _He_ didn't want _me_!"

"Fine! You don't believe me? Go ask him yourself. But you can _not_ carry on like this. You might as well put a bullet in your head. But fucking sober up before you get behind the wheel. He definitely won't want you if you turn up stinking of booze and cheep sluts or wrap yourself around a damn tree!"

==000==

Sam found that he had to re read the last paragraph again and realised that there was a low, almost hesitant, knocking on his door. Throwing his pen down to mark his place and closing the book, he slowly stood trying to think who it could possibly be. He only had a couple of friends and they both tended to walk in before announcing their presence. Annoying as hell but he kind of liked the fact that he was comfortable enough not to get freaked out by it. It said a lot about how his life had changed.

He was not stupid. There were wards drawn around the doorway and salt across all the entrances but he felt comfortable and safe here. During the day. At night he locked himself in, the gun close at hand under his pillow. It had always been at night, when he was most vulnerable, that things had happened.

Now, he had a moment of hope halfway across the small room to the door, but squashed it immediately. That part of his life was over, no matter that he still thought of him daily, turned over in the night to find he was not there. So, curious, as he heard the low knock once more, he reached for the knob and opening the door looked up, a pleasant but neutral look on his face.

Dean was terrified. Terrified that when he answered, Sam would look at him with horror, or worse distain. He had waited for over an hour since he had watched him enter this room. He had been watching him all day. He was so beautiful and he looked content. Sam fitted in here, in the sun amongst the green lawns and red brick buildings.

Dean had been half expecting someone to call campus security on him. Hanging around, hiding so Sammy would not see him, he felt so out of place, so rough and common. He had ditched his leather jacket and dug out his brightest t-shirt, light grey, in an effort to fit in better. He had drawn some attention and left many a teenage girl and older, blushing at his wink and smile, and 'hey, how you doin'?'

He had seen Sam laughing, sat on one of those lawns, at something an equally tall, skinny blond kid had just said to him. He was glad, glad that he had friends but he was jealous too. This was a life so separate, so different to the one that they had shared. He just prayed that Sam was not 'involved' with the blond.

Looking up at him now, Dean felt his heart leap. "Dean!" and Sam threw himself at him, engulfing him in those arms, laughing delightedly as he dragged him into the room.

Sam had missed him so much, but now he was here, at his door, in his room, in his arms. Then he was kissing him, ignoring that the man no longer wanted him, no longer desired him like he had when he was younger. All he knew was that Dean was here and that Sam wanted him.

Dean found himself pushed back against the slammed door and Sam was on him, covering him, kissing him. A moment of wonder, Sam had never acted, wanted him like this. He had only ever let him fuck him before, never instigating anything, only giving what Dean would take from him. Now the younger man had him pinned to the door, his mouth crushing over his, his tongue invading his mouth, making Dean feel as if he was going to be consumed.

His hands, that were pushing at the slim waist, slid around and were suddenly hanging onto those newly, so broad shoulders as Sam ground his whole body against him and Dean just gave up. He gave up all his unease and worry, his regret and the false bravado he had plastered himself in as he had knocked so quietly on the worn door, half hoping that Sam would not answer.

His whole body went limp, supple in the boy's arms. He was still young to him despite his new found maturity and increased size. He always would be that beautiful boy that had captivated his heart. This Sam was just a newer version, with new and interesting angles to explore. And damn, he wanted to explore them.

Sam could not believe he was doing this. He had never demanded from Dean. He had always waited for the other to tell him, show him what he wanted. It was right. Dean had 'saved' him, had claimed him and he had been there for him, for whatever he had wanted from him. Until that was, he had stopped wanting.

But now, Sam wanted, he wanted this man who was miraculously here in his arms, pushing his body back against his. He was not willing to wait and be led. He needed him.

He broke off the kiss, moving his mouth over the smooth stubble free, he noticed, jaw. The man had shaved for him and it made him smile. He caught up an earlobe, kissing, sucking it before asking him, breathing hotly into his ear, "You're here. You've come for me?"

And all Dean could do was gasp out, "Yeah. Yes, Sammy. I have."

==000==

TBC...


	27. Chapter 27

Then that mouth was back over his and Dean was pulling at him, pulling in time to the long body pushing up against him. He could feel Sam's prick pushing against his own painfully hard one and wanted to feel it, touch it. He dragged his hands down that newly muscled back and it was a fight to get his fingers to the opening on Sam's jeans, the body intent on pushing him through the door until he suddenly realised Dean's intent. In no time, Sam had Dean's pants undone too and around his thighs and Sam's prick, hot and eager, was pushing, sliding against his.

Sam could not get enough of Dean, could not get close enough. He felt as if he almost wanted to blend with him, wanted to be so close, as if he could push his whole body into the other from head to toe. He moved, placing his right arm around the shoulders that he had always found so strong, his hand clutching at Dean's upper arm, pulling him as he pushed his face next to his, whispering begging words into his ear.

Dean held onto Sam's bucking hips and his head hit the door as it threw back, Sammy's large hand leaving his arm to surround both their pricks, squeezing, sliding, pumping them together. Frantic, harsh and Dean pushed his face against Sam's hair, grown long again, brushing against his nose, his mouth. Oh that smell, he had missed that smell, Sammy's soft luxuriant brunette locks, obviously still using the same shampoo. Sammy, his Sammy and he was cumming in the furious, firm grip.

Sam sobbed into Dean's ear as he continued to pump their pricks, his hand moving through, and spreading, the other's spunk along the shafts. Dean was shuddering, almost whimpering in his embrace and Sam too came, stilling then he was easing them both down with looser, gentler strokes. As he licked his lips he pulled back, letting the older man go but still leaning against him, their softened pricks side by side.

He looked into the fucked face of his brother leaning back against the door, "Hi," he said with a grin. Dean blinked, also licking his lips and those fantastical green eyes came to focus on him as he stood a little straighter, his head swinging up off the door. A lopsided grin appeared on kiss swollen lips and he replied, "Hi, yourself."

Sam just had to kiss him again. Long, languid and Dean melted once more under his caress. His hands came up to push under his brother's cotton t-shirt and he let his fingers spread out and explore. He felt different to him, harder under his hands and he had to know. He pulled back and had Dean's top off, over his head before the other could object then his fingers were back touching the shoulders, the collar bones. Moving across to graze at a nipple then his palms were covering the prominent pecs. He was leaner, hardened and Sam just knew that he had not been taking care of himself.

Dean leant back against the door as he just stood letting Sam fondle him. He had missed his touch so much. It had been months since he had even seen him, having both to pluck up the courage and to sober up before he came here, nevermind had those hands on him. He wondered now what had gone so wrong. The way he was acting now, Sam wanted him, there was no doubt, this was no act. So why, why now? Had he realised that he missed him too? But he had not wanted his touch for so long. He did not understand.

Lips on his left nipple and he gave up worrying for another time, his fingers pushing into that hair he loved so much as Sam suckled on him, much as he had been want to do to the teenager. Those long fingers were at his waist, holding onto him as Sam's mouth began to descend along his flesh as he sank to his knees in front of him. He looked down about to ask if he was sure, that he did not need to do anything he did not want to do just because he was here, but the sight stilled his tongue.

Slowly, taking his time and relishing each moment, each taste, Sam placed his open mouth on the taut, lightly freckled skin and closed his lips, sucking up the flesh and spunk on Dean's belly. He licked at the dark blond hairs, sucked up the slavered skin and his hands spread over the softly groaning man's hips. He methodically cleaned up every bit of cum, moving to so lovingly clean that long lost but so familiar prick, his hands slipping down to rest on the golden haired covered thighs.

His shoulders and nape hard against the door, Dean could not help but thrust his hips forwards as Sam continued to suck and lick at his prick. Already he could feel it begin to swell under the attention so missed, so longed for. Both hands were twined in _that_ hair and he wanted Sam to take him in _that_ mouth of his but would not tell him too. This was not up to him. This was Sam's doing.

Sam was taking his time, enjoying the smell, Dean's musk, as he buried his face against him, the hardening prick growing along his cheek. The fingers in his hair were getting insistent but he was not going to take him into his mouth. He wanted him inside him, it had been so long.

His own fingers grasped hold of the open waistband and he knelt back, Dean's hands resisting then letting him go, sliding across his cheeks. Sam did not look up but slowly drew the jeans and briefs down those strong muscled thighs, past knees and down the tense calves only stopping to duck and undo the laces on the heavy workmen's boots, pulling them from unresisting feet.

Dean bit at his bottom lip, his hands lax and useless at his sides as Sam undressed him almost ritualistically. It was slow and intimate and so damn sexy. Then he was stood before him, smiling almost shyly, and toed his pumps off and got naked so much faster than he had done to Dean. He held a hand out and no sooner had Dean tentively placed his in it, he was being pulled to the bed, Sam moving backwards and pulling Dean down on top of him as soon as the back of his knees hit the mattress.

Once again, it was frantic and rushed. Sam open and laid out beneath him, Dean pushing against him, his hands everywhere, grabbing, rubbing, smoothing over the body so new to him yet so familiar. The way Sam's chin lifted up and to the side to give his mouth room on his neck. The knees high and wide so he could settle himself before being engulfed by those so fantastically long legs, the feet, crossed over his buttocks, pulling at him, demanding he do something, the only way Sam had ever demanded anything from him.

He pushed his face into the stretched neck, wanting nothing more than to mark him, to suck up that skin and mark him as he had after Sam's first hunt. But no matter the legs pulling at him, the hands grasping on his shoulders, Sam was not his now, not his to do as he wanted with. Sam was grown and independent. Sam was a near grown man now, that was begging into his ear.

"Dean, please. Its been so long. Fuck me, Dean. Please." It was the first time Sam had ever asked and he desperately hoped that it would not turn Dean off, turn him away. Surely not as he had come to him, for him? He had followed him here.

Dean wanted nothing more. He raised up onto his elbows, looking down into the desperate face. He had been so scared that on arriving here Sam would not want him, would be polite and pleasant but not inviting. Now he heard the passion in his voice, could see the longing in those bright hazel eyes and once more wondered what the hell had gone wrong.

He had not thought this through, had not dared to imagine this. "Do you…do you have any lube?" breathless and embarrassed.

Sam struggled to reach over to his bedside cabinet and Dean had a moment of disappointment. He had selfishly hoped that Sam would not, that he had not needed any. But he was young, handsome and free. Of course he would be having sex with other people. Just like he was.

He had buried his longing for Sam in a myriad of nameless faces, breasts and thighs, none of which held a light to Sam. He had even tried with a man, tall, brunette and damn good looking. He was still ashamed at the way that he had treated him. He had hit him, fought him off, when he was only trying to do what Dean had lead him to believe that he wanted. He had not been able to apologise enough. He had not been able to run quickly enough.

That was three nights ago and he had driven clear across the country, leaving John stranded as he took the Impala, and came here. He had had to come. He could not even breath properly at the thought of not seeing Sam again after that, whether he wanted him or not.

Sam managed to get the drawer open and, rummaging around, pulled out a paper bag wrapped around a small bottle of lube. He nervously handed it to Dean not being able to look at him. He had bought it the day after he arrived in Palo Alto on the vague hope and desperate wish that maybe Dean would realise his mistake and come and get him. It had been at the back of his drawer ever since.

Leaning to the right, his body excited but somehow comfortable resting, laying along Sam's, Dean unrolled the bag and swallowed at a sudden lump in his throat. It still had the seal and price tag on it. He looked up at Sam but he was looking away, at anything but at him. His fingers were unaccountably clumsy but he eventually got the bottle open and himself slicked up, noticing the slight smile on Sam's face at the frustrated swearing.

He lunged up and just had to kiss that little grin away. And Sam was there, pliant and open beneath him, ready and eager and he lined himself up and began to push in. Damn! he had never forgotten what this felt like, to sink into Sam's amazing body. But he was so tight and Dean gasped at the pressure against his prick, desperately willing himself not to cum then and there.

Sam arched almost violently under him as if he was trying to get away. His hands digging into his shoulders, leaving half-moons breaking the skin. His teeth clenched as he tried to force himself to relax, to let Dean in.

"What? What's wrong?" Dean froze seeing the pain on Sam's face. This had never happened before, he had never hurt him doing this, had he?

"Wait.. wait…damn.. argh..!" Tears sprang to the corners of Sam's eyes. This was new. A new sensation. He had not thought that he would need to be opened up, prepared. It had not occurred to him in the brief moments after pulling Dean down on top of him. He had never needed it before, had always managed to get himself prepared, had never gone long enough between tricks to tighten up, and once with Dean he had never had that problem either.

But it had been so long. No one, there had been no one. No one since Dean had stopped wanting him, taking him.

"Do you want me to stop?" even though Dean did not want to, did not believe that he could. He had been waiting so long for this, it felt so tight, so wonderfully constricting on his throbbing prick. But if Sammy was in pain?

"No...no... Just... wait... Please," his voice pleading because although Dean had never truly hurt him physically, many had in one way or another. And things learnt the hard way were not easily forgotten.

Dean had to distract himself, had to distract Sam. He leant on one elbow, trying to keep his weight off Sam, off his pelvis and used the fingers of his free hand to stroke the side of Sam's face. Gently he ran them over his eyebrow and down his cheek. Then smoothing across the creases in the young forehead and once more down his cheek to his chin. He ran them up into the hair, brushing it back from his face and slowly that face began to calm and he could feel his body relax under him.

The clamping tightness lessened on his prick as Sam's arse also began to relax. He slipped in a little further unintentionally, causing a sob from Sam. "I'm sorry, baby." Kissing him on his neck, Dean rolled back onto him, letting his weight lay as he touched his lips to the other's softly. He began to kiss him deeply trying to distract him as he could not keep from pushing into that heated tightness any longer. He did not want to hurt him but damned if he could keep still.

Sam felt Dean slide all the way into him and he brought his legs up high, wrapping them across his back, letting him know he was okay, that he was ready for him. He had not felt that burn in quite the same way since he was fourteen. He was sore, definitely, as Dean began a slow retreat then slid back into him, and he was kind of glad. He had been used so often and hard and this burn, almost, almost made it all new, made him feel almost like he was a young man getting his arse fucked for the first time.

And that mouth kissing him so thoroughly could distract him into doing anything. It always could. That mouth, damn, how he had missed that mouth. Dean found his rhythm and Sammy immediately matched him as if it had not been months, almost half a year, since they had done this. He had often wondered if they had burnt themselves out. If the passion they had found and the constant touching, lovemaking and down right fucking had been too intense. If it had been impossible to keep up the momentum.

At other times he had wondered if Dean had found out. If he had found out not just about John's continued use of his mouth in the early days but about _that_ day too. Or if he had found out that Sam was actually his brother 'Sammy'. But if he had, it did not appear to matter now.

Dean rose up onto straight arms and stared down at him making Sam smile, making him forget his dark thoughts as he nodded up at Dean's face which was silently asking for permission. And Dean began to pump into him, quick and hard and deep and just the way he loved to, just the way Sammy loved him to, because he knew Dean enjoyed the look on his face as he stared up at him as Dean fucked into him.

Sam did not hold onto him now. He let his fingers explore his face, chasing those freckles down his neck and onto his chest. He pushed and pulled at his breast, pinching up a nipple, letting it go quickly moving on, never stilling as that prick thrust into him over and over. He glanced up briefly, a smile to his lips at the intensity of Dean's regard.

Then Dean was on him again, kissing him and his hands did come up to surround his back, holding onto his shoulders as he had always loved to do. He held him close, kissing back as if for the first time, as if this was all new and exciting. Because it was. To Sam, this was yet another new beginning. He was near a man now. He was no longer the boy Dean had picked up off the street. He was at University, studying to become a man of substance, a lawyer hopefully at the end of it. It was what he wanted to do, to be. Become a lawyer and help people just like he had been.

So now, he was here, a grown up, fucking with his lover, a man, strong brave and worldly wise. They were not the lonely hunter and his bum boy. They were not the rogue and his grateful lover. They were men. They were lovers.

As Dean rubbed that never forgotten and long missed grove into his ass, Sam marvelled at where they had come from, at where they were now. And strangely he was thankful to whatever it was that had destroyed the Winchester family as it had been because, without a doubt, if it was not for that mysterious entity, Dean would not be causing him to buck up under him, causing him to never want this feeling of being loved, wanted, admired and filled, ever to end. He would not be loving him, would not be fucking him. They would be brothers not lovers and Sam wanted Dean the lover.

He was determined that now he had him back, in his arms and in his arse, he was not going to lose him again.

Dean thought it was as if Sam had not left him and run away to college. It was as if he had not come to realise that the youngster did not want him, would never come on to him, only accept him. This was what he had thought they had before his realisation and whatever it was that had changed Sam's mind, he was thankful. He could feel it building. He did not want to stop, so held on as long as he could, enjoying the sheer sensation of his prick held tight in Sam's hot passage. The sensation of the hood of his prick forcing against the resistant but giving flesh of his arsehole.

This was just as he remembered it but so new and exciting too. This was a different figure under him, a man. All hard muscle and tensed limbs. The strength of the grip on him, around him. He just prayed that Sam would give him time to explore every inch of this changed body.

But now he was cumming and could do nothing but follow his prick as he collapsed down onto the still bucking figure, breathing out his name, never wanting his still jerking prick to leave its embrace. He used his last bit of sense to force a hand between them to grab hold of Sam's prick and quickly bring him off. He could not leave him wanting and the convulsing contractions on his still swollen but exhausted prick made him utter a noise he would still be ashamed to admit too. Yes, this was just as it had always been.

Sam relaxed back, his legs slipping off Dean, brushing over that superb ass. If anything, it was even more so, pert, firm and eminently fuckable. After this, he was not going to let Dean leave his bed until he had at least tried.

On top of Sam, Dean could not take it anymore and slipped out and off him, collapsing to the side but still close along his body in the narrow single bed. Sam threw his hands over his head and just breathed.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Dean admitted very quietly. He leant up on an arm bent at the elbow, head held in hand. His other hand strayed onto Sam's chest, running over the exposed skin, travelling, touching all it's contours. It had broadened and the muscles were apparent but still he thought it was developing. He was excited to think what Sam would be like in a few years. Big he suspected, bigger than him. He had been taller than him for over a year now.

Sam did not deny that the penetration at first had hurt him, it would be an obvious lie. "I know," he replied turning onto his side to mirror his brother. He ran his hand down onto Dean's hip and onto the ass. Then he slid his hand down and encouraged the leg up onto his. He pushed his leg in between Dean's and was pleased the older man did not object. He let his fingers dance on the buttock within his reach.

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

But Dean did not speak again. There were so many questions he wanted to know the answers to but he was afraid. Mainly because this was not like him. He had driven over here, demands running through his head. He would demand to know why Sam had left, demand to know what was going on between him and his father.

He knew there was something. There were too many secrets, too much avoidance. Just that his father had helped Sam get this place, had helped him with all the legal stuff so he had a free ride here. Just that in itself, John Winchester helping Sam do anything, was in itself strange.

He had asked his Dad, and all he had said was that if it got the kid out of the way and Dean to concentrate on what was important, it was fine by him. There was more to it. There was something else. Dean sensed his father was actually pleased he could help Sam, not just get him away from Dean.

John had stopped trying to do that a long time ago. Much around the time he had noticed him call Sam 'Son' for the first time. He had wondered long and hard about it. He had let it drop as Sam did not seem to mind and John had inquired if he would prefer it if he went back to calling the kid, 'whore'?

Sam's fingers left off his ass and stroked his cheek, saying, "Tell me. Just say it."

The fingers went back to their play on his hip and buttock and Dean, still not looking at him, placed his hand flat against Sam's heart as if the reaction would tell him the truth. Damn! He hated conversations like this. "Why did you let me fuck you all those times when you didn't really want it?" he closed his eyes dreading the answer.

Sam was incensed. "How the _fuck_ can you ask me that?" his hand clamping down tight on Dean's thigh as if he feared he would bolt. It would not surprise him.

It was not the answer Dean was expecting. He looked up at Sam's furious eyes. "But…." and dropped his eyes. He should have kept his dumb mouth shut. He was here, in Sam's bed, having just been buried deep inside of him, his prick still wet with lube and cum. Now he had ruined it, fucked it up just as he obviously had somehow before.

"But what?" Sam wanted to know. He was not going to let this drop. He knew Dean, he knew his knack of avoidance. Not this time. Not while he still had that burn in his ass telling him he had been so wrong to let this go. Whatever he had done to make Dean stop wanting him, although he had thought all it was was that he had grown up.

"Nothing." Dean decided he should leave. Coming here was obviously a mistake and Sam had just let him have one last go. He pushed up from the bed wanting out of here.

"No you don't." Sam grabbed hold and rolled on top of Dean, refusing to let him leave. "I want to know what you mean. Tell me what you mean!"

Dean looked up at the man holding him down to the bed. He was right, Sam had grown into one hell of a strong man. And apart from the anger he could see in the face, he kind of liked it. Liked that Sam was stretched out along him, pressing him down. He tried to move, to throw him off and Sam just held him tighter, his legs holding his down, his chest on his, his prick caught between them next to his own.

Grabbing hold of Dean's wrists tightly and throwing them over his head, their feet hanging off the end of the bed which was never long enough for Sam to truly stretch out on, he felt himself begin to harden. A darkness filled Dean's eyes and he realised that he too was showing interest. He kissed him, kissed him hard and Dean pushed up against him, bucked up.

He pulled back from those lips, "No. I know what you're doing, you're trying to distract me. You tell me, Dean. And tell me now that you were not just saying, that for all those months that you could not keep you hands off me, could not keep your cock out of my mouth, out of my ass, that I was just being a whore? That I didn't love the way you made me feel? That I didn't long for every touch you were willing to give me. Every soft caress that made my heart want to burst with the joy of knowing that you loved me. Was that a lie? Are you telling me now that you didn't believe how much I loved you? That I still do?"

Dean stared up, shocked beyond belief at what he had just heard, at what Sam was telling him. Was it true? Did he really love him? He had thought so. But then he had realised that Sam never came near him without Dean coming to him first. "I don't understand?" and it was true.

"What?" laughing incredulously, "What Dean? What do you not understand? You don't _understand_? What about me? You took me off the streets. You promised to love me, to never hurt me than one day you can't even bare to touch me anymore! How do you think that made me feel? After everything I did, everything I let happen just so I could be with you and you don't want me anymore. I don't understand. I never did. What did I do, Dean? Grow up? Was that it? I wasn't the boy anymore, not the young kid that you so liked to fuck? Did I grow too big for you?" He was angry, so angry.

Dean was getting angry too. If everything Sam said was true, "Then why the fuck did you never touch me if I didn't touch you first. Why the hell would you stay away from me? You never came to me. You never once came on to me, tell me you wanted me, tell me to fuck you! Not once! So I knew, I knew it was all a pretence. If you loved me, if you wanted me, you would have shown it." And he tried again to dislodge Sam but the younger man was not going to let him go.

Sam knew that if he let up, let Dean up, he would never get to the bottom of this, never get this so obvious misunderstanding sorted out. What a waste. What a damn tragedy. Dean had wanted him, but thought that he did not want Dean. He had wanted Dean but thought that he no longer felt the same. It was a farce. But he found no humour in it.

"How could I? How could I demand, ask for anything? I was nothing, a kid selling his ass on a street corner. Then you came along and took me away from that. I know what I was, I know that I had to keep you happy to get you to keep me.

"Of course I let you do anything you wanted to me. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to stay with you because you wanted me, loved me or so I thought.

"Even after I found out what you do, I wanted to be with you. I was in love with you! How can you believe it was nothing? I've dug up corpses, broken into cemeteries and dug up corpses! I've seen things no one else believes exist. I killed a damn werewolf for fucksakes. Why? Why do you think I did all that if I was only there _letting_ you fuck me?" he could not help it, he was so angry, so saddened, tears began to slip from his eyes falling onto Dean's stricken face. "I loved you, you bastard. I still do."

"Oh, fuck. Sammy?" Dean could not believe he had been so stupid. He had thought he was doing what Sam wanted, leaving him alone, letting him go. Now he just enfolded the crying lad in his arms as he collapsed into a sobbing mess on top of him, releasing his wrists. He had fucked up big time. Again.

Sam slowly recovered himself, resting his head on Dean's chest, feeling those fingers running through his hair. What would he think of him now? He was eighteen years old and balling like a little kid. He pushed up and off him, feeling hands clutch at him but he moved to the sink, running the water and slowly washed his face. He was too ashamed to turn around and see the distain on his brother's face.

Dean got up and stood behind the hunched over figure. He was unsure what he should do. He knew what he wanted to do. Damnit! He had fucked up so badly by doing what he thought he should. He placed a hand on the base of Sam's spine, pressing lightly. "Come back to bed," he told him softly, "Come back to me?"

==000==

TBC...


	28. Chapter 28

They had so much wasted time to make up. Locking them in the room, Sam was glad he had as he had to wrap a hand over Dean's mouth as he tried to shout out as someone, Brady, tried to get in. He was not ashamed that he had this amazing lover in his bed but knew that if his friend found out, they would have no peace.

They had fucked, slept and loved for over twelve hours, the window darkening then lighting once more. Still they had not left the dorm as Sam had fed Dean every piece of food or snack that he had. He had allowed Dean one midnight run to the bathroom and he had gone in the early hours, raiding the vending machine, still convinced that if he left him alone too long his brother would be gone when he returned. He still found it hard to believe that he was actually here.

Once again laying out against each other, the bed lurched as Dean reached over to grab a can of cola from Sam's nightstand. "This bed is going to collapse if we're not careful. Its making one hell of a squeaking noise," as Dean grinned mischievously at him.

"Guess if it does, we'll have to stop," Sam managed to reply with a serious face, snagging the can from his brother.

"Is that so?"

"Ur..uh,"

The can made a pathetic shriek as Dean grabbed it, finished the contents and squeezed it in his hand then threw it to hit the wall somewhere. Sam just laughed again. He had not done that so much since those happy times in the first year living in the house with him and the oft absent John. It felt good.

Dean could do nothing but capture a mouth that did that at him, puckered up to utter that noise. Kissing him long and languidly, Dean pulled back, a sleepy sated smile to his face, his eyes half closed as he looked at the face so close to his. "You are so damned beautiful," he breathed.

He watched as Sam actually appeared to be blushing. With his still swollen prick resting on Dean's thigh as he had a leg pushed up between his legs, his hand spread on Dean's buttock, his fingers almost pulsing as they pressed then relaxed, the boy, near man he reminded himself, actually blushed. "You were a beautiful boy and you are becoming a beautiful man." He smiled as Sam ducked his head.

He could not help it. At Dean's softly spoken and heartfelt words, Sam felt himself so entranced, felt himself so …innocent. Somehow this man had always had that power over him, to make him feel what he was not. Worthy, precious and valuable. He had always loved that the man had never held his past against him, that he had forgiven him for what he had done with his, their, father.

If only the man could see those qualities in himself, the ones that Sam valued. The magnitude of his heart, the bravery and fierceness he had experienced so many times when he had kept his word and always ensured that Sam was safe on every hunt he went on. That he could be so strong and aggressive but yet touch him with such tenderness.

That he had lost all this for so long was a crime but he would not dwell on the past. He had him here, in his bed, under his hands. He bit his lip wondering if he could dare, if he could finally ask him for something he wanted, for something he had wanted from the moment he had first shared his bed. But would Dean allow him?

Fingers pushed into his hair, smoothing it back from his face in a gesture he knew so well. Dean wanted him to look at him. He did, lifting his eyes but still he felt unable to raise his head. He was going to ask. He was. He just had to pluck up the courage.

"I know that look. Spill." Dean waited, wondering what was worrying the brunette now. Whenever Sam had wanted to ask him something, this look of nervousness had come across his face. He had seldom asked for anything but this was the look he had worn when he had shyly asked for some money, if he could go to school, if Dean would teach him to drive.

Sam shook his head, his hand leaving off that perfect mound and he collapsed down to the bed, closing his eyes.

Dean was having none of that and rolled them so he was half lying on Sam and he bit at the end of his nose as he refused to open his eyes. Then his chin, seeing the curve of a smile on those kiss swollen lips. "Tell me," and he continued to nip, his jaw, his ears, back to his nose making him laugh and open his eyes. Dean smiled into the sparkling hazel and asked again, "What?"

Sam ran his hand up the side of his lover's face and, biting his lip quickly before letting it go, he asked all in a rush, "Dean, can I, I mean I want to… Dean? Please, will you let me inside you?" he froze as Dean did not move. He did not seem to be breathing, nevermind blink.

He should not have asked. He had been a damn fool. He should have just been grateful that the man was here at all. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, turning his face away, not wanting to see Dean's angry reaction.

Dean did not know what to say, what to do. He was shocked, no, not shocked, surprised. It had never crossed his mind that Sam would want their roles, positions reversed. This being his only ever gay relationship, he was at a loss as to whether that was common or not, whether tops and bottoms did switch.

Sam was obviously anxiously waiting for his reaction but he honestly did not know what it was. He had to give him some response so, to give himself time, he pushed his face into the neck stretched away from him. He kissed the skin and began to nuzzle at the pulse, feeling Sam convulsively swallow.

He thought about his reaction. Well, for a start he was not horrified. He had never thought about it, had never fantasised or encouraged the idea of Sam fucking him like that. It had just never crossed his mind apart from that one time when he was so hurt, so jealous. But obviously it had crossed Sam's. But could he do it? Could he let himself be penetrated like that?

He licked at the base of Sam's throat, tasting the sweat salt on his skin. Think damn it! Decide. Sam was practically trembling under him and he suspected not just from the action of his tongue. He closed his eyes as he let his mouth move across the smooth hairless chest to place a kiss over the boy's heart. There was a hand holding lightly to the back of his head and Sam shifted, stretching under him. He made a decision.

Moving back up, lifting himself, he asked, "You know what to do?" then felt the worlds biggest fool. Of course Sam knew what to do. He had always known that Sam knew a hell of a lot more than he did about gay sex, possibly about sex full stop, but had always ignored the fact not wanting ever to think about all the men he had had, or rather, had had Sam.

Sam turned his head back to look at Dean's beautiful blushing face. There it was again, the man making him feel innocent, by completely ignoring his previous life. He ran his fingertips softly over the man's check, smiling, he nodded, biting at his bottom lip again, this time in excitement not trepidation. He was going to get him, after all this time he was finally going to be able to sink between those perfect buttocks just as he had always wanted to do. But he had to be sure. "Dean? Please don't let me do this just because you think you have to. You don't."

Dean did not know what to say. It was not as if it was something he had wanted to do, had even thought about but, "I love you, Sammy. I always have and if this is something you want, then yes. I trust you. I know you won't hurt me."

Sam could see the concern, the trepidation in his eyes but he believed him, he trusted Dean too. He had to, he rolled his brother backwards, pushing his long body against him and he had to kiss him. Kiss his, fucking, beautiful, mouth. He would never hurt him, he would make this good for him. It had been a long time but he knew just what to do.

And he was going to be making love to Dean, he was not going to be fucking him. Not this time. Not this, his first time. Dean was a virgin in this and was willing to give it up to Sam. He rolled them back so they were looking at each other and he once more pushed his leg between the other's, pulling Dean's thigh up onto his hip.

His fingers ran lazy circles over the hip and thigh, slowly working their way onto the rounded, taut buttock. He could tell Dean was nervous and he wanted to put him at ease then excite him. It was a risk, he had never spoken to him like this but this was a new relationship now, a more determinedly equal one.

"Dean," he whispered, his breath brushing across the full lips so close to his, "I would never hurt you. I'm going to caress you…I'm going to treat you right. I'm going to open you up so slowly, so deep. I'll make you squirm and twist and sigh and make you so comfortable and relaxed you're going to drift, then I'm going to bring you so high you're gonna want to follow me all the way there..."

==000==

TBC…


	29. Chapter 29

Dean could not look at Sam as he spoke to him like this. He ducked his head, staring at a bite mark that he had left next to his right nipple. The fingers running lazy circles on his hip and thigh were light but Dean could feel them like he was being branded, the delicate touch pulling all his attention, all his being to where he thought those fingers might go next. He knew that whatever they did, they would somehow reach his soul. Sam's voice, so low and sex roughened, was half way there already.

A kiss to his temple, moist breath by his ear as Sam continued to tell him that he was okay, that he was beautiful and that he was going to treat him right. He wanted to tell him he knew, that he believed and trusted him but he could get nothing past his lips other than quick shallow panting breaths as Sam's hand led his fingertips up his thigh, over his buttock then onto the base of his spine.

Slowly rocking his body against Dean's, Sam pushed with the leg he had between his brother's. He had a thought to just roll him backwards, pin him to the bed and push his way inside. It was a thought that he had had many a time over the years but he knew he was not going to do that, that he should not do that. Dean may say he trusted him but he could tell the man was not comfortable with this and was far from ready. Besides, just taking him that way would be betraying that trust, so hard won over the years.

Dean was not quite shaking but he was tense and obviously nervous. 'Sammie', still there inside of Sam, possibly forever, recognised this. He had plenty of experience with men who wanted, but did not know exactly what that want or desire was or how to go about it. He had had a few 'virgins' before but had never really cared about them. Only bothering enough to ensure value for money and the probability of a return client.

Even Dean, when he had first 'hired' him, first taken him into that hotel room but now, that same man, so still except for his heart beating so hard that Sam was convinced that he could hear it, he loved.

He ran his hand up his brother's spine into the short blond strands at his nape and felt the shiver pass through the body so intimately close to his own. The narrow bed being next to the wall helped. Dean was trapped with no where to go other than where Sam was taking him.

He smiled and let his nose rub against Dean's hair then began laying soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, as he moved to nuzzle at the man's ear then neck. It worked as, finally, Dean raised his head and Sam drew back to look at him, to smile and then kiss those open lips so lightly, so softly, until the older man kissed him back.

And it was like a fire searing through him. It had always had an immediate effect on Sam, that first touch, taste of his brother's full lips. Even that first time in the car so long ago when Dean was nothing more than a trick. It caused an instant reaction on his heart, body, mind and prick. When Dean would do that, when he would part his lips and his tongue would caress along Sam's, be it top or bottom, it would ignite a passion in the younger man like no other ever had.

That first touch of tongues was always a slight shock, almost as if a small arc of electricity passed between them. Dean moaned slightly as he submitted to the pressure of Sam's mouth, as his tongue forced it's way into Dean's mouth and he pushed his body harder against the older man's as that 'electricity' drove Sam on.

Finding himself wedged between the wall and the suddenly powerfully rocking body almost completely covering him, Dean felt the first inkling of real panic. But he could do this, he had to. Sammy wanted it, had apparently for a long time, and he was just so, not so much relieved, but so happy that the youth had taken him back. Sam had taken him back _and_ back into his bed. After the way that he had treated him, Dean knew that he had no right to deny him this.

But if he was truly honest with himself, the feelings of being trapped, of being almost ravished, were making him feel things he never had before. He felt a desire to give in and let Sam do whatever he would to him. To let him have total control in reality, both physically and mentally, as he had always, if unwitting, had control over his emotions no matter how well Dean hid it.

What panicked Dean now was the realisation that he was getting turned on yet again. Not that surprising as Sam could do things with his mouth that would have Dean whimpering in seconds if he was not careful but even more so, he was becoming almost excited at the thought of having no control, at having no say in what Sam would do to him. And he kind of wanted it now, wanted it hard and fast and to be all consuming and that scared him.

Sam broke away from him, rolling back and breathing hard, staring into his eyes, so close. Dean did not want to see the concern there, did not want to see the question. "Sammy, please don't.." and he grabbed at him, trying to pull the longer frame back and on top of himself.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he had to stop himself from saying something that he would regret, from swearing at Dean, asking him just how the fuck was he supposed to stop now. But then Dean started to push up against him. Rocking his body in a steady but frenzied rhythm matched by the clutching hand on his right shoulder. "Sammy," he breathed out, his voice so low and rough that Sam felt his prick twitch.

"What? What, Dean? Tell me. What do you want?"

The eyes dropped again but not before Sam could see the almost begging in them. He must be mistaken. Dean never begged for anything. Dean told and commanded. The head followed, dipping down to his chest but then was forced under Sam's chin as Dean pulled at him, pushed against him, a noise, unmistakably pleading, leaving the man's throat.

Sam ran soothing fingers over Dean's back and shoulders. "I've got you. I won't hurt you. I promised. I promise you."

Dean was almost hyperventilating. He did not want gentle reassurances. He wanted passion, he wanted to feel. To feel Sam all over him, inside of him. But he had to rein himself in. It was not up to him. Not this time. This was Sammy's turn.

He concentrated on those softly caressing fingers and promised himself that he would have a serious talking to himself about his reactions, his 'impulses', when he was not as hard as a fucking piece of granite, nevermind wood. He wanted, but he was frightened of that want and knew himself enough to realise that if he actually got what he wanted right now, he would no doubt run from it afterwards. Run straight into a bottle.

Sam felt the slow relax of his brother and closed his eyes thinking, 'thank fuck for that'. He had known that this was not going to be straight forward or easy. But then, nothing worth the pursuing ever is. But he had thought that the reticent Dean was going to baulk altogether. He had waited so long for this. He had dreamt, fantasised for years about Dean, willing and pliant, moulding to his touch, to his prick pushing inside of him.

He swallowed. If he was not careful he was going to cum again before he ever got near his goal and at the rate they had been going, it would take him far too long to be able to 'get it up' again.

Enough, and he leant forwards, kissing Dean's lips slowly, catching up that succulent swollen bottom lip, sucking on it then dragging it out until he let it go with a low, almost obscene, popping noise. He smiled as Dean came with him, his eyes fixed to the slight curve of a smile on Sam's lips. "Turn over for me," soft, light, breathed onto those beautiful, begging lips.

Dean looked up into Sam's eyes. They were dark, lustful and somehow commanding. He was nervous, shit, he was fucking petrified, but he pushed himself backwards as Sam moved away from him. He looked to Sam again who nodded encouragingly and, taking a breath, rolled onto his stomach, clutching at a pillow, bringing it to his chest.

The bed was wrecked and as he stood bending over the rigid figure, Sam tried to straighten the bottom sheet as he gently pulled the pillow from beneath Dean who gave it up reluctantly. "Lie flat," he told him, smoothing a hand over his shoulders and upper back as Dean hesitantly turned his face to the side, cheek to the creased sheet and placed his arms either side. His hands immediately twinned into the loose bottom sheet, his breathing rapid.

Sam stood back for a moment just staring down at the vision before him. He knew his brother was beautiful, had from the moment that he had first laid eyes on him, but now, stretched out, his body taut, the muscles defined as his shoulders flexed showing his nervousness, Sam could not help but to lick his lips at the beauty. The beauty of the figure laid out, waiting for him.

He had to grab at his prick as it swelled to almost bursting from the sight. He held the root hard within his fist. It hurt, but he could not let himself cum now, not yet. He breathed deeply, stilling the impulse to shoot his broiling seed all over this glowing body, reclined, almost in offering to him, almost in supplication. But not yet. Dean was not ready, not relaxed enough to be compliant. He still had to lead him there.

Half will power, half pressure, he got his prick to calm enough for him to let go and he swiftly climbed onto the bed, straddling the tense figure. He was careful to keep his abundantly weeping prick from touching Dean, not wanting to scare the man, not wanting to excite himself further.

Dean wanted to close his eyes but they stayed wide, staring at the beat up and scarred desk and chair legs at the other side of the smallish room. If he closed his eyes and tried to let go, to just let this happen, he knew he would freak. The closer he could feel the moment coming, the more he wanted to run.

A few moments ago he had wanted Sam to consume him, to smother him, force his way inside and take. He wished he would. Then he would not have the time to seriously contemplate telling him no, to get away from him and never try to fuck him again. He thought his heart was going to burst with the speed of the blood rushing around his ears, the rampant beating within his chest.

The bed dipped as it took Sam's weight, making another of those desperate creaking sounds. As he felt the warmth of the other's body cover him without touching, he was, for a moment, amazed that Sam must be burning up as much as he himself was. He could feel the sweat pooling in the centre of his back, in that dip just above his ass. He opened his legs out wider, thinking that he should, thinking that he should damn well stop thinking about it and just let Sam do this and then it would be over. He would know if he would ever allow the other to do this to him again. Would know if he would want him too.

Delicate fingers touched the nape of his neck and he nearly jumped from the bed, his whole body flinching. He heard Sam's voice, low and soothing, "It's okay, I've got you." Lips replaced the fingers as they began to move down his spine. Soft kisses to the base of his skull, across his shoulders and then following the path of those burning finger tips.

He forced himself to relax as those digits found and played in the moisture collected on the base of his spine. As the tip of Sam's tongue dipped in to taste, then those fantastically talented lips sucked and the tongue slavering his skin, he knew it would be a long time before he could truly relax. His prick, which had shied from the thought of this fucking, began to fill and swell under him, slightly uncomfortably, bordering on painful, trapped under him between the relatively hard mattress and against his belly.

Sam loved the taste of Dean's skin. He always had. A mixture of the man's unique musk, leather and salt sweat. He let his mouth have its way and tasted, sucked and licked all around the base of Dean's spine as his hands ran smoothing circles and caresses over his sides, hips and thighs.

Pulling his hands down to cover those hips, he let his thumbs press into the underside of the so tight buttocks, his mouth moving to cover the hidden coccyx, his bottom lip trespassing on the very top of the divide of those buttocks.

Dean let out a half startled moan and his left leg moved, twisting, opening more to the side and Sam took the opportunity to move, to kneel between the legs, gently encouraging Dean to open them more and let him in.

Complying to the coxing, insistent hands on his inner thighs, Dean shifted, catching up the stolen pillow as it still rested by the bed. Pulling it to him, he lifted up, dragging it under him as he moved into an almost recovery position but still with this arms up by his head. He collapsed back down, the pillow clutched between his hands under his shoulders, his face pushing in from above. He held onto the scantly stuffed cushion as he would a life preserver if lost at sea. But then that was how he felt now, he felt like he was drowning, helpless under Sam, as wave after wave of trepidation coursed through his body.

Sam pulled back and stared down captivated. He bit at his lips, a fleeting thought running through his mind that he had never found an asshole particularly attractive before but, just like the rest of the man, Sam found even this part of Dean beautiful. With the repositioning, Dean had opened the way for him and he had to put a hard hand to the base of his prick once more.

He moved back, moving his groin away then, kneeling forwards, he delicately, as if it would burn him, placed one hand on each of those glorious mounds. He let the weight of his palms lay heavier then had to 'play', had to smooth and move over the pale flesh, had to nudge and separate, grasp and then kneed the cheeks that fit just so perfectly within his palms that he was convinced, yet again, that they were made for each other. He had known, from the moment that Dean had first taken him, that he belonged to the other but now he was convinced that Dean was truly made for him too.

Dean found he could not help but move his hips under the massaging pressure and he finally closed his eyes as he actually let himself enjoy the manipulation. His prick, no longer trapped, pushed against the mattress with the movement, the sheet harsh against the so recently well used and sensitive skin. He breathed deeply against the pillow, grabbing it tighter but still refused to utter the groans he could feel in his throat.

Sam's face dipped closer as he watched his fingers, as they, as if by a will separate from his, began to pull the buttocks further apart and the tips of his right index and middle finger brushed over the tightly puckered hole. Dean let out a harsh startled grunt and did not appear to be relaxing at all but now Sam did not care. He let his fingers rub over again and again, gently, but then the tip of his middle finger circled the rim and then pressed down, slowly but with intent.

Dean was panting. His hips were squirming, trying to get away from the so big seeming object attempting to invade him. His prick leaked fresh pre-cum and his body shook. Such an alien feeling, nothing at all like when his own fingers brushed the place during a shower. His butt cheeks stretched wide, the fingertip was removed and his hips rose up wanting it. He half sobbed into the pillow at the realisation.

The skin on Dean's buttocks was rosily pink as the blood rushed back when Sam finally tired of kneeing the pliant flesh. He had to put his lips to it, his mouth open on one perfect mound, the skin heated under his hands, warm on his lips. He kissed, he mauled as the hips moved under him, as Dean moved under him, pushing his groin against the bed, bringing a far from innocent smile to Sam's lips.

He let his tongue travel up and down that neglected hollow at the base of his brother's spine and, watching him carefully, prised apart those buttocks once more. Travelling so slowly, almost trembling against the sweat tainted skin, the tip of Sam's tongue moved down to lick across Dean's asshole.

"Fucking shit!" as Dean's eyes sprang open, his hips pushing down to the bed then back up against that hot slick muscle passing over his most intimate of places.

Sam's self satisfied smile was lost against the shuddering butt, his eyes sparkling as he treated Dean to a new sensation, a never before felt rimming. His hands held his buttocks down tightly as he refused to lose his advantage, to lose the chance of giving Dean this intimate pleasure.

Dean could not believe the sensation and thought that he would cum just from the touch of Sam's tongue, stroking swirling around his entrance. But then Sam was pushing, pushing his hips down and pushing his tongue into him! He forced his face into the pillow once more, letting it swallow the noises he could not contain, the swearing.

He discovered then what it meant to be a pillow biter. He had heard the phrase, thought of it as a derogatory term but he could do nothing else. It was either bite at the pillow until his jaw felt as if it would shatter with the strength or scream, scream so long and loud he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror again.

He was aware that Sam knew things he did not. He knew that the youth had far more, far too much, experience with sex than he did, but for him to do something like this, to have kept it secret from him for so long? What else did he know? What else should he have asked him?

His thoughts fled as he felt that tongue push and burst through his tight ring of muscle, tighter still as he closed up, tensed up at the intrusion, yelling at his body to stop. To stop fighting this and give in to the pleasure he was certain was waiting for him. If, that is, he could just let go of all those stupid macho ideas about what being a man was that he still harboured deep inside.

The fact that Sammy let him fuck into him, opened up and let Dean have his way with his body, had never made him any less in his eyes. Yes, he still thought of him as a boy but he had always thought of him as such, a boy, a male, a man now. But the thought of allowing someone to do those things to him, had, if he was honest with himself, always smacked of being effeminate, of not being the man he had been brought up and trained to be.

But right now, all his preconceived and taught thoughts on just what a man is and what he could and could not do, could go take a flying fuck. He shuddered as Sam removed his tongue and thrust it back inside of him, then he did it again and again until Dean's hips were bucking and it was a struggle for the younger man to hold him down.

Sam loved the reaction he was causing. Dean was losing control under his hands, under the assault of his tongue. He had seldom done this before, had had it done to him to little effect but he had known he would be able to make Dean almost insensate with the obviously new experience.

He had never enjoyed this before, had found it an obnoxious chore. He immediately pulled his mind back from that Lawyer and his fists and his monthly visits to town and concentrated solely on Dean. He could not believe himself how much he was getting from this. He could feel his prick leaving slick trails across his belly and longed to have it encased. But he was enjoying the action of his tongue pushing into Dean's asshole. The feel of the man quivering under him, the knowledge that he had Dean so under his control.

Dean was becoming desperate. He was going to cum, way before Sam managed to get anything thicker than his tongue into him. He lifted his head from the pillow, gasping as he moved his left hand, pushing it under himself and grabbed hold of his cock. He wanted to cum now. He had wanted to wait until his lover was inside him. "Sammy…" he confessed strangled, "I can't… I can't wait. I'm gonna.."

"Not yet, not yet, Baby." There was no way Sam was ready for Dean to lose it so soon, he was not even half way there yet. He used his own hand to pull the very resistant hand from beneath Dean, "Trust me," he commanded as his mouth went back to his blissful torture of Dean's asshole. He sucked, he slavered, he mauled, just as he had to the plump buttock, he did to the tender sensitive ring of muscle.

Dean could have wept, whimpered, he so needed to cum, his prick rubbing against the seemingly rough sheet, the feelings at his asshole so unexpected, so fantastic. He pushed his face into the abused pillow as he pushed his ass against Sam.

Sam could have continued, would love to continue to wring those desperate little whimpers out of his brother but the knew he was running out of time on this go around. He shifted slightly, his knees shuffling closer to be caught between the spread thighs. It raised his angle of 'attack' and he entered his index finger into play besides his tongue, swiftly and expertly until it was impaled up to his second knuckle before Dean was even aware of the intrusion.

His finger slick with his spit, he worked it back and forth along with his tongue and soon had two fingers working, massaging, opening Dean up to him. His brother was talking, or rather uttering words, sounds with no vowels. Letting his tongue run up along Dean's spine, Sam moved over him, his fingers continuing to move within the virgin tight channel.

Dean's hand began to move again, heading down his side. He had to touch his prick, had to give it some relief but then Sam was moving over him and he could feel breath on the side of his face and his hand was grasped and returned to beside his head. He strained his eyes and neck as he turned to look at the dark shadowed face so close to his.

Clasping Dean's fingers within his own, Sam placed a kiss to the man's cheek, moving closer and closer to his mouth as the man strained to reach him from his prone position. He did not cease with his movement in Dean's ass, pushing into him as Dean pushed back against him, the new angle forcing the asshole to be stretched upwards. His fingers buried deep, he took the side of his lover's mouth in a kiss.

It was awkward and Dean could not help but think where that mouth had just been but he thought it a minor matter to the one in hand. Or rather Sam's hand, his fingers moving, pulling, pushing, twisting in his ass.

He wanted them gone. He wanted more but would not ask, could hardly admit it to himself nevermind someone else, even Sammy. He was so close. His prick pushed against the mattress with renewed effort in counterpoint to his ass pushing back against those torturing fingers. It was almost natural now, no thought, just want and desire and sensation and pain and compulsion.

Dean pulled his face away and Sam knew he had him now, as close as he would ever get to actually asking him for this. It was submission as he dropped his head onto the pillow, not looking at him but groaning out his name. That was what it was for Dean, submission. He wished it was not, wished it were different but he knew his brother well enough that to Dean, allowing him to fuck him was a submission.

He would see it no other way. Just as he had always thought of Sam 'letting' him fuck him all these years, never truly believing that he longed for it and always had. Maybe tomorrow things would be different. Maybe tomorrow Dean would understand just how much, and why, Sam loved Dean doing this to him.

He placed a last kiss to just behind Dean's ear, then carefully pulling his hand away from that fantastic ass, he carefully climbed onto Dean's back, lowering himself down to lay all along the other man's length, his pre-cum slicked prick settling between those globes.

Dean let out a noise close to a whimper and Sam smiled, reaching over and retrieving the near empty bottle of lube from the floor where his brother had dropped it. He rocked against the heat of Dean's buttocks, kissing the nape of his neck before raising slightly and dealing swiftly with the business of applying the lube.

Hands clenching the pillow so tightly he thought it would rip, would tear asunder under his hands, Dean groaned out as he felt the first tentative touch of bluntness at his asshole. He tried to swallow, his breaths harsh and fast. He could do this, he could, he had to. Had to for Sammy, for all he had allowed him, all he had taken from him. Because Sammy wanted this. Because Sammy loved him. And because he loved Sam.

And then Dean experienced for the first time what he had done to Sammy so many times. His whole body moved forwards up the bed as his head raised and he tried to move away from the intrusion in his ass. One of Sam's large hands grasped at his hip, the other at his shoulder, his thumb stroking Dean's skin, even now trying to make him feel at ease, to relax.

He knew Sam's prick. He had held it, stroked it, sucked it so many times but it had never felt this hard, this big before. Slowly, by stages, the younger man pushed into him, a feeling he would never have been able to imagine. As Sam paused, Dean found himself breathless, waiting for more. He wanted more. He felt so weakened. So defenceless and overwhelmed. Pushing up onto his forearms, still twisting the pillow, he tried to look behind him, look at Sam. He wanted to see his face, wanted confirmation that the other was enjoying this, even though they had only just begun.

Sam had his eyes closed tightly, his teeth gritted as he did everything he could not to cum there and then. Dean was so tight yet giving around him as his ass slowly relaxed and let him in that little bit further all the time until he was sliding in up to more than half his length. The muscles, tightening against him before the relax, were so powerful on his ultra sensitised prick.

Gasping, feeling the inevitable tide of his orgasm recede enough to continue, he pushed forwards again, his eyes opening to look up, straight into the green gaze of his brother as he twisted to look back at him. He smiled, hoping it did not look like the grimace it felt. "Fuck, Dean? You are…. so…. fucking….. _beautiful_."

Dean's prick had not been too happy at the latest sensations coursing through his body but seeing the look of near bliss, combined with an immense strain on the lad's face, made it take interest again. Sammy was the beautiful one. He was the one that could make his prick spring to life with just one look, one smooth action of his fingers pushing that hair from his eyes and now, seeing the extent of the man's feelings at what he was currently doing, the sight went straight to Dean's prick.

Fuck the weird alien feeling in his ass, fuck the thoughts of hating Sam for doing this to him, he wanted his beautiful lover to enjoy himself, to use him any way he wanted to reach those heights just as he had always been there for Dean.

"I love you, Sammy. I always have." Damn the look on the boy's face as he smiled so brilliantly and, smiling back, Dean let himself relax down to the bed, finally relaxing in earnest, giving up any last vestiges of resistance and animosity.

This had taken so long, but finally Sam felt Dean accept him as he pushed forwards once more, as far as he could, Dean's asshole gripping the base of his prick so tightly. Again he held his breath not wanting to cum but he was so close, it just felt so fucking amazing.

Dean was convinced he could feel Sam's heart against his back, a wild staccato along with the breaths heated on the back of his head. Then Sam began to withdraw from him and Dean could not contain the grunt at the tantalising friction. Sam pushed back in faster than before and he bit his lip, clutching the pillow and pulling it further under his chest as he tried to rise up against Sam's weight on top of him.

Instinctively taking the hint, not consciously reacting to it, Sam shifted his weight onto his forearms either side of Dean's torso. He dropped his forehead to the nape of Dean's neck as the new position gave him extra leverage and he began a slow glide back and forth within Dean's damn tight, magnificent asshole.

He had imagined this so many times but, whereas usually expectation leads to disappointment, the feel of the silken, moistened channel, sliding against his burning prick was beyond anything his imagination could have conceived. Slightly quicker now as he heard grunts and almost whining coming from his brother. He never wanted this feeling to end.

Dean's whole body jerked as Sam's prick pushed in, stretching the front of his channel. There, it did it again, sent a wild flaming feeling through his entire body making him grunt out in shock. Fuck! he was going to cum, cum so soon. "Sorry…" through gritted teeth as he tried to hold on for his lover's sake. "Sammy, I'm sorry…I can't….I gotta…I'm gonna cum."

He knew what this would do to Sam. Had learnt a long time ago that to get the best orgasm himself was to make his partner cum first. Not so much from being a respectful or sensitive lover, but to get that feeling of the clenching around the prick, was the most amazing thing ever. It had taken Sam so long to get to this, due to his own reticence and he did not want it to end for him so soon, but fuck! as Sam hit that place again.

Sam dropped back down onto his shuddering, straining brother. He could tell he was struggling not to shoot and he loved him for it but wanted to scream, 'no, don't you fucking dare, not yet, you bastard'. His hands moved to cover Dean's, his face pressed against Dean's neck, breathing by his ear. Covering him, enfolding him and pushed in as far as the angle would let him.

Dean felt trapped, dominated and it was wonderful. The way he had no control, Sammy being the one controlling his body, pinning him down, pushing into him and he knew right then, as that fucking glorious prick skimmed over that place inside him once again, that once this was over, he was never going to be able to let Sam do this to him again. He could not afford it.

"Then do it. Cum for me, Dean," breathed into his ear, the breath hot and panting as Sam pushed into him harder than before. Dean let out a strangled, almost yell as Sam drew back causing a warm friction then slammed his hips forwards. His fingers, entwined with the other's clenched so tightly he thought he might break at least one of Sam's. His prick trapped beneath the combined weight of them both, spasmed almost painfully as he came yet again.

Sam held still, his face one of pain as he held on not wanting to lose it but the feeling of that already tight channel clenching, clutching at him was almost unbearable, the sensation so intense, so fucking unbelievable. His wordless yell was explosive in Dean's ear who was practically a molten liquid mass beneath him. He had to move, nothing in the universe would be able to prevent him from moving against, through that continuing grip around him.

Once, twice, sliding back and snapping forwards, the resistance even greater as the muscles tightened. Sam withdrew almost leaving Dean then, forcing his forehead against the nape of his lover's neck, he thrust his hips forwards as hard as he could and came, shuddering violently, the sound of Dean's almost pained grunt making his prick pulse again, shooting deep into him.

The noise Dean let out was the bastard born of a laugh and a scream. Nothing, nothing had ever felt so good as feeling the wet heat of Sam's seed filling him. He did not know where the clenching of his own channel ended in comparison to the pulsing throb of Sam's prick. It was all one, they were one and he briefly wondered, before his brain melted, if it was like this for Sam, if Sammy felt the same sensations of completeness when he came inside of him. He hoped so. This feeling was so amazing, he prayed that his beautiful boy, his lover, knew this phenomenon.

Sam collapsed down onto him, forcing him in turn to fall, to relax against the bed, the pillow now a hindrance as he just wanted to lay and savour this feeling, Sam's heart thumping against his back, his breath warm and ragged against the side of his face. He was heavy, damn he was heavy, trapping him there, holding him down, his prick still a 'semi' hard presence in his ass, claiming him, anchoring him. It was an incredible feeling but he knew it had ended far too soon for the other.

Sam lay on Dean as his body moulded beneath him, finally truly relaxing in the after glow. He rubbed his cheek against his brother's, knowing he should move and let the man breath but he did not ever want to move again. His legs were leaden and he just wanted to fall asleep right there, warm and comfortable, cushioned and safe, but his prick could not get enough of this. It could not get enough of the sensation of being enfolded within Dean, of himself being intimately enveloped by his truly amazing brother.

"Sam? Ease up just a bit." Dean wanted rid of this pillow now, he wanted to lay flat and, wallow.

Making nothing but an agonised noise in denial, Sam 'snuggled' closer, causing Dean to swear. He was suddenly taken by surprise at how good that felt. Just that small movement was incredible in his tender and aching asshole. "Sammy, please.."

"Yes, of course," and Sam reluctantly pushed himself up and began to pull his so sensitised prick out of that glorious heat.

Shit! "Don't fuckin move!"

"What?" startled. What had he done wrong? Had he hurt Dean? He stilled, straining on trembling arms not to move.

Dean gritted his teeth as he forced his head off the pillow trying to look over his shoulder. He had not meant to frighten Sam. "Please," his voice urgent, "don't. Don't leave…..don't …" but he could not say anymore. Could not beg. He struggled, pulling the pillow from under him then collapsed, flopping back down. "Stay," spoken so quietly to be almost a whisper.

Sam thought that he must have misheard but then Dean's left hand reached back and grasped his side, pulling at him. It kind of hurt, but felt wonderful at the same time, as he gingerly lowered himself back down, slowly pushing his prick, blossoming into yet another hard-on, back into that all consuming silken enclosure. He was unsure who made the loudest whimper. Again he shifted, letting his weight lie as he placed his hands to surround Dean's shoulders, his face by the golden freckled one.

"Are you okay?"

Dean did not want to answer. Yes, he was okay. He was fucking fantastic.

No, he was not. He was in a world of swirling denial. He loved this feeling, could never have thought it possible but he hated it too. Hated that it felt so good, because, as he had already decided, this would be the one and only time.

He did not want to disappoint Sammy. He wanted him to feel that he was indeed equal in this relationship, hopeful that they would still have one when the time came for him to leave again. But it was a feeling so alien to him. To be so out of control, to be at the mercy of his sensations every time that Sam made the slightest move. Every breath he could feel. Every twitch and movement. He imagined he could even feel Sam's pulse beating in his ass.

Dean somehow managed to stretch out beneath Sam, his whole body flat against the mattress, only his face turned to the left so that he could breathe. As his legs opened even more, Sam took the opportunity to run his hands along Dean's arms to his wrists and surrounded them gently with his large hands. He heard the slight moan in time to the shiver than ran through his brother's body. His prick swelled at that sound to fill up the hot channel and it would have taken a much stronger man than him not to respond.

Slowly he began to move within Dean, very shallow thrusts, each a world of sensitized sensation, Dean making tiny begging noises that just made him move faster, further.

Dean wanted to scream, wanted to stop this, once more to tell him no. He wanted to tell Sammy to move faster, harder, harsher. He bit at his lips and just let the youth do as he will, as he was. His own prick told him he was being foolish to want an end to this. Sam was pinning him down again, even the hands encircling his wrists were tightening and relaxing in time to his increasingly deep, quicker thrusts.

It was that trapped feeling that he had wanted earlier, that all consuming being 'taken' feeling. He found himself pushing back up against the heavy body or rather trying to. He was pinned and all he could do was move his arse against the prick sliding repeatedly into him. The friction so intense, that almost burn each time Sam's length moved to pull from him.

Each time Sam pushed into the now totally accepting moist heat of his brother, he felt that pressure coming back at him as Dean tried to move. He should pull up slightly, let the man have more space but right now he did not want to. It was not that he did not care about Dean or Dean's wishes and wants, it was just that this whole experience was so great to him, he could not stop now.

If Dean was to scream and to beg him to stop, to slow or to do anything other than what he was now doing, he would not be able to. He would not be able to do anything but to continue to thrust into the wonder that was surrounding his prick. The feel of the soft walls expanding, stretching as the hood of his prick pushed against them. The slight ripples and bumps that made up the walls of Dean's channel. All felt amazing and somehow huge against the ultra sensitivity of his so recently and well used hood.

Sam began to move faster, the groans and almost bestial grunts that forced themselves past his lips were crude and harsh and in direct proportion to the base instincts that had taken him over. Dean, Dean, Dean, was all that was running through his mind. No other thought, no other sense than Dean.

Dean knew that he was close to losing it. Not 'it', the orgasm 'it', but it, his sense, his mind, his entire being. He was becoming nothing but a receptacle for all that was Sam. Sammy, the only thing in his universe. The thing that made him alive, that made him… be. There was nothing but the force of the being that had him possessed, that had him anchored into this world, into this reality by the sheer force of his thrusting body and his will.

Then suddenly it was all over. Sam made a noise that at any other time would have had Dean running to kill whatever it was that was hurting him so much. All at once there was that stilling, that momentary freezing as he felt the other hold then shudder as he felt that liquid heat fill him once again.

Sam was slowly rocking into Dean almost like an after thought, as if he could just not stop something that had become so important, so second nature to him. He could no longer feel his limbs, they were so leaden, so used just like his body. He stilled, all of his weight on Dean as his prick still gave an occasional twitch and judder.

As he slowly became aware of something other than what his own body was experiencing, he finally pulled his painful prick from that chasm, feeling Dean jerk and give out an agonised moan.

Pain, release and ecstasy as Dean's prick gave vent to the build up of overwhelming sensation as he felt his core almost pulled out through his ass as Sam left him. As his selfishly abused, well used, prick gave one more magnificent spasm, Dean sobbed and for all intents and purposes, passed out. Used and truly fucked.

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The bed collapsed on the Sunday morning. They just took the remaining legs off.

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TBC...


	30. Chapter 30

Epilogue

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"Come on, Sam. You need to get out more. Come down to the bar."

Sam sighed, this was the third time that Brady had called him and he guessed he was not going to take no for an answer this time. But Sam had the weekend to himself and had planned on catching up on some much needed study. He had done nothing over spring break, having spent a great deal of it either under or on top of Dean and was falling way behind.

"I've got too much to catch up on and I've only got the week. Dean's coming at the weekend," and he grinned to himself.

"Dude. Come out! You spend far too much time with that brother of yours. Live a little."

Laughing, "Cousin. He's my cousin."

"Right!" said as if he had just hit himself in the head. "'_Cousin'_. Whatever. I demand you get your ass down here now. There's someone I want you to meet."

"No," but he was weakening. He had not been out without Dean again for a while now and Brady was good fun.

"Ten minutes. Don't keep the lady waiting," and his friend hung up on him.

Groaning, realising Brady was about to try and fix him up again, he smiled affectionately and got changed. He would stay for one drink, apologise and then leave.

Walking into their favourite bar, Sam spotted the tall blond and, moving to slap his friend on his shoulder, looked at the woman that he had been dreading meeting on the walk over here. He had Dean, he did not want anyone else, but of course no one knew that.

"At last," Brady commented. "Sam Winchester, meet Jessica Moore. Jess this is Sam."

And looking at her, Sam had another one of those moments when he knew that his life was about to change once more...

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**A/N**...Thankyou to all of you for getting this far and for all the reviews and comments you have left me.

Please don't hate me. I know a lot of you wanted a happy ending but this was my idea right from about the start.

I was going to end it there but i've started writing again. I think I have been with this incarnation of the boys too long to just finnish.

So I hope that you will look out for 'Part 2' comming in 2011.

Cheers,

aliencatt

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